That Impossible Blue
by AnthroQueen
Summary: It's strange how we try to balance two things that don't equate in any way. We compensate sadness with food, longing with drinking, and absence with anything to pass the lonely days.
1. One

**Hello all! Well... Yeah. Last night happened. Let's pretend it didn't. I am still so angry and so disappointed, but somehow, not shocked in the slightest. I'm really good at aggressively ignoring canon (any of my stories from my Prison Break phase should tell you that) and that's exactly what I'm going to do in this story. To my wonderful, precious blueberries of anonymous reviewers, yes! I am going to write another multi-chapter fic! And here it is! Thank you for your kind words, as always. I always review-reply to everyone who reviews my stories and it makes me sad that I can't ever reply to the anons. But I love you. Thanks for being there. :)**

 **So yeah, this one. My muse wouldn't shut the hell up and I kid you not when I say that I wrote eight chapters of this story in one week. Granted, seven of those chapters still need editing and the rest of the story needs to be written, but I guess I can throw this one out there. At first, I hesitated posting it (and SpobyFicStalker can confirm that I was a little shit about it, as always), but after last night's episode, I feel like I can take any creative liberties I want and it will _still_ be better than the finale. So this starts off at prom and goes AU after that.**

 **That being said, it's not a happy-go-lucky, make-you-feel-better-about-last-night story. I'm promising you now that it gets that way. It doesn't start off that way. I'm sick of nothing happening on the show. I'm sick of dumb reveals. I'm sick of the girls _barely getting away_ every time. And so, I changed it. Please be brutally honest with me. Trust me, I can take it. If you hate it, hate it. If you like it, that's cool, too. Regardless, I'll be posting it because I need to write or else I'll never be able to sleep. The story title and the description come from the spoken word song/poem "Kite Flying" by Joseph Kerschbaum, brought to recent fame by Dance Moms. Listen to it; it was inspiration for Spoby's head space for the first five or six chapters. Anyway. Yeah. Kay. I think we're on the same page now. Any questions and my PM box is always open. Or review them. Or visit me on Tumblr at dreamsarefantasmic dot tumblr dot com. Love y'all. Stay safe out there. Radley ain't for you.**

* * *

One

In the end, this is the last memory she has before everything falls apart. They're banned from their own senior prom and it turns out everything Andrew had said about them ( _toxic, Rosewood wants them gone_ ) had been true all along. It's funny, now that she thinks of it, that the town deems it necessary to punish them even further, as if this whole torturous, drama-filled nightmare is their fault in the first place. She supposes it probably is; if they'd told the truth, if they'd fessed up to Jenna's downfall, if they'd stood up for themselves or never befriended Alison in the first place… Well, who knows where they'd be now? The what-ifs will never stop torturing them and she's beginning to believe –A never will, either. She isn't the type for trips to the salon, getting dolled up and attending formal events, but she was actually looking forward to prom if only to escape the trauma of her everyday life. She has a dress, she has a date and then, well, she has nothing.

Their mothers plan an elaborate, homemade prom and it's one of the most ridiculous things she's ever been a part of, but it's the thought that counts, she guesses. They end up sneaking out to the real prom, anyway. Sarah Harvey is there and Ezra Fitz and Spencer understands; really, she does. But they seem so out of place and there's an unknown tension brewing between Hanna and Caleb and she's wondering if everyone is going to fall apart the moment they leave Rosewood. She's dragged Toby reluctantly into the middle of the floor, and they're swaying slowly, arms around one another, as she wonders what's next. They were _so_ close to unmasking –A and she'd ruined it; now, they're close to the end of the school year and she has no idea what she's doing or where she's going next, but she doesn't want to ruin this too. Toby looks pensive and Spencer bites her lip, afraid of what he's going to say. She isn't often the one with the most stable relationship and the last thing she wants to do is lose the title she'd fought so hard to win.

"We should talk about this," Toby says after a beat and when she looks up at him, he's got conflict in his eyes. He's at war with himself.

"About what?" She wonders and for some reason, her heart begins to pound.

"You," Toby tells her. "You said you were having problems again and-"

"I told you to let me say something," She frowns. "I'll do whatever I can to help you. This wasn't your fault. It was mine!"

"Not that, Spence," He sighs and rubs her arms a little. "Look, if you don't feel like you can tell me these things-"

"I do," She cuts him off, gripping his hands in her own. "I swear, I do."

"No you don't," He tells her gently. "You didn't tell me last time, either. It's okay. I mean, I'm not mad at you. I'm just… I'm worried. I don't want you to get yourself into trouble… Into _more_ trouble."

"But I fixed it, remember?" Spencer tells him. "I stopped taking it, I went to meetings-"

"And I'm proud of you," Toby tells her. "I'm _so_ proud of you. But if you need someone who understands it better than I do… I mean, maybe you should talk to someone. Contact your old sober coach; what's his name?"

She stills and then hurriedly shakes her head. "Yeah, Dean. No, that's not a great idea."

"Why not?"

"It's nothing," She refutes. "Really. I don't want to talk about it."

"Spencer…"

"Seriously, it's fine," Spencer insists. "It's nothing."

"What did he do?" Toby asks gently. "Did he say something? Did he hurt you?"

"No, he just…" She sighs. "He's just a typical Rosewood male."

Her boyfriend sighs, his eyes closing. "He hit on you."

"I don't want to talk about it. _Please_ ," She clutches him closer, her arms around his neck. "Can we just dance? Please?"

He nods, obliging, and locks his arms around her waist. "I'm not very good at it. I'm definitely not a dancer."

"You're fine," She murmurs. "You know there's no one I'd rather be here with than you."

He smiles, pulls back, kisses her. The theme of their senior prom has something to do with fairytales and she's dressed like Ariel in homage to _The Little Mermaid_ , possibly one of the most ridiculous of them all. Spencer doesn't believe in fairytales; she never has. But then, something funny happened that changed her perspective, just a little. She fell in love and suddenly, things were different; _The Little Mermaid_ is fitting for them, but not Disney's clean-cut, happy-ending version. In the original story by Hans Christian Andersen, the Little Mermaid sells her tongue for a pair of human legs and though she and the Prince grow to be great companions, he doesn't fall for her. Instead, he falls in love with a girl from the town and the Little Mermaid is offered a dagger with which to slay him and return to the sea to live out her days with her family. When the time comes, she cannot bring herself to slay the prince; she loves him too much. Instead, she sacrifices herself and dissolves into sea foam, forced to hug the shore as the Prince gets his happily ever after instead.

It's morbid and it's dark; definitely not something that Disney would approve of and so instead, King Triton kills the Sea Witch and Ariel gains her legs and her voice and she and Eric live happily ever after. But Spencer prefers the original version; call her a sadist, but it's realistic. It's them. Their entire relationship is made up of sacrifices for the good of the other; keeping the other safe, keeping the other _alive_ , is worth the pain and suffering in the long end. She looks at him now, her confidante, her savior, the absolute love of her life, and she frames his face in her hands and kisses him soundly. Her own magical fairytale, her once upon a time, her happily ever after. There is no way she could've gotten through any of this without him.

There's a crackling sound at the back of the room and the lights dim and the music quiets just a little. Spencer lifts her head from Toby's shoulder and glances in the direction of the disturbance, just as Mona, from beside them, deadpans, "He's here."

"Who's here?" Hanna wonders.

"We have to do this now," Mona says instead. "Let's go."

"Charles decided to crash the party," Alison fills the others in. "Of course he did. We were stupid to think it wouldn't end this way."

"Wait, you guys can't do this," Toby stops them. "At least not alone."

"We tried it your way, remember?" Alison spits back. "You were too busy trying to count the colors of the air to catch him!"

"Back _off_ of him, Ali!" Spencer roars. "That was my fault and it doesn't matter _what_ we do, he always eludes authorities. We have to go a different way."

"Let's surround him," Caleb suggests. "Like we did when you were in that bunker. Let's get him surrounded and _finally_ get rid of this son of a bitch."

"He'll never allow that," Mona shakes her head. "If he senses we tipped _anyone_ off, he'll be out of there like his ass is on fire. We _have_ to go alone."

"That's not a good idea," Ezra disagrees.

Aria counters, "It's the only way."

The girls continue to bicker with Caleb and Ezra, who disagree with all of their ideas and Toby pulls Spencer aside. "This is a terrible idea and you know it."

"I know," Spencer pleads with him to understand. "But we tried your way and that didn't work either."

"I wouldn't exactly say that it was my way," Toby says. "You wouldn't let me call Tanner, remember?"

"For this reason," Spencer replies. "Every time we get other people involved, someone gets hurt."

"I'm not convinced going alone won't get someone hurt, Spencer," Toby sighs. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"It's okay," Spencer says. "It'll be okay. That's what you always tell me, right?"

He hesitates. "I don't know… Something doesn't feel right."

"Spencer!" Aria beckons, nodding towards the exit.

She nods towards her friend and turns back to Toby. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, come find me."

She pulls his mouth to hers one last time and feels him kiss back as though their lives depend on it. Her eyes lock with his when they break apart. "Ten minutes."

" _Spencer!_ "

"Five," Toby negotiates and then she's gone.

* * *

She needs to listen to Toby more often. That's the one thing that's running through her brain in the aftermath. They're somewhere deep in the woods and there are trees and branches and twigs snapping on the ground and leaves getting caught in their hair. Toby was right. Toby's _always_ right, lately. She needs to listen to him more often. It's like a motto, it's like her new mantra, and she just keeps repeating it over and over and over in her head. _I'll listen to you. I'll do what you want me to. I'll listen. I promise_. If she makes it out of these woods tonight with somewhat of a semblance of her sanity, she's going to listen to him. That's what she's telling herself. That's what she's focusing on. Because she can't bear to focus on anything else.

Alison is still on the ground. She's crawling ever so slowly over to Mona, terror and shock in her eyes, and she reaches out blindly, grips the cold girl's shoulder. She begins to shake her, jar her, force her awake. Hanna's scream crying, her chest heaving, the white tulle of her dress caked with dirt and mud. Aria's mouth is wide open, as if she'd frozen mid-scream and Emily's clutching Hanna to her chest, trying to calm her with shaking hands. _I'll listen to Toby more_ , Spencer repeats one more time and then she, too, drops to the ground and yanks on Alison's arm, pulling her away. The blonde refuses to give up on Mona, and there's so much irony and no time to realize it, so Spencer grabs her by the sleeves of her golden dress and forces her to look her in the eye. There's blood on Alison's hands and guilt in her eyes and for once, when Spencer looks at her, she doesn't see the manipulative teenager Alison's become. She sees a sad, scared little girl and she doesn't know what to say.

Aria snaps out of it first. She tells them they have to get out of here, they have to get help, they have to find _someone_. The problem is, they have no idea where they are. Charles or –A or whoever it is had led them on a wild goose chase and they're so far from the school, they're easily in the middle of nowhere. Spencer doesn't remember how they got here, honestly. She doesn't really remember anything. They followed a blind lead, there was a lair and a brilliant bright light, and then there was darkness. There was a hooded figure with a gun and there were screams. Now, there's a body on the mossy ground and five broken girls and a howling, piercing wind that chills them to the bones. But Spencer stands, follows Aria's lead, and together, they find their way out of the woods.

They end up just down the road from Spencer's house and there are about a dozen police cars and an ambulance and news reporters held back by caution tape. Alison's trembling, still dripping with blood that isn't hers, but almost was. Hanna's still scream crying and Emily's in shock, now. Aria and Spencer navigate through the crowd like they're still intact, but it's a flimsy façade, at best. They were crazy to think that their prom wouldn't end in death and in despair. They were crazy to believe this would be the end, that they'd follow Charles' lead into the woods and leave knowing who he is and why he's doing what he's done. Or maybe they are just crazy. Maybe this entire ordeal has done nothing but reserve them permanent spaces in Radley Sanitarium.

Spencer spots Toby at the edge of the crowd, conversing with Tanner and a few others while still in his suit, and she runs towards him, reminiscent of the dollhouse reveal weeks earlier. She throws herself into his arms with reckless abandon, completely ignoring his boss and colleagues, and her breaths are coming in short gasps. He holds her just as tightly and can barely get her name out. "Spencer-"

"I'll listen to you," She needs him to know or maybe she needs to remember. "I'll listen to you. I promise. I promise I'll listen."

"What are you talking about?" He implores gently, ignoring the puzzled looks on his coworkers' faces. "What happened?"

"She's dead," Spencer gasps out. "She's dead. She's dead!"

"Who?" Toby wonders. "Who's dead?"

But she can't say it and he must not need her to, for he looks past her tufts of wild hair at the others who'd managed to escape the thicket of trees and notes that six girls had gone into the woods. Only five came out.

"Spencer," Tanner addresses the trembling girl. "Where is Mona Vanderwaal?"

She pulls away from Toby, only slightly, and shakes her head. "She's still back there… in the woods. She's dead. We saw her… We watched her die."

Toby grimaces and pulls her closer, back where she was, and Tanner purses her lips. "It seems to me like we've been down this road before. With Mona, I mean."

"She's gone," Spencer says. "She's really gone, this time."

Tanner looks skeptical and asks, patronizingly, "Are you _sure_?"

Spencer looks stricken. "I _saw_ her die."

"Are we sure?" Aria shrieks from beside her, eyes flooding with tears and mascara dripping down her cheeks. "Are we _sure?_ Why don't you go back and check the woods if you don't believe us?"

"He was there," Emily fills in. "Charles. He was there and he had a gun. He aimed for Ali but Mona…"

"She was my friend," Hanna cries. "She was sick. She was manipulative and she was obsessive but she was my _friend_. And she's dead! She's dead because you weren't there! You're never there! I watched her die! I heard the shot, I saw the blood, I watched her take her last breath and where were you? Where were you? You weren't there!"

"Hanna," Caleb says, holding her back from lunging at the detective, but that's all he has to say. Her anger melts back into grief and she dissolves into tears.

Tanner turns away from the scene, calls for backup, and motions for her men to follow her into the woods. Her eyes drift from Lorenzo to Toby as she says, "Cavanaugh, that means you, too."

Without awaiting a response, she heads towards the trees. Spencer peels herself from her boyfriend's arms and wipes at her eyes. "Go. It's okay. Go."

"She's got more than enough officers with her," Toby shakes his head. "I'm not going to leave you. Not now."

"I'll be okay," She says but her voice betrays her, cracking somewhere in the middle.

"No," He insists. "She suspended me, didn't she? She can't decide to lift that just because of what happened. That's not how it works."

"But-"

"But nothing," Toby tells her. "I'm not choosing, remember? I'm not choosing between this job and you."

She remembers his words from months earlier and nods slowly. "You already have."

Burying her face into his chest, she feels him press a kiss to her crown and his arms curl protectively around her. He's all she needs to get her through; he's all she's _ever_ needed, from day one. And she doesn't know where Charles has gone and she doesn't know what comes next. But as long as she has Toby by her side, she can force herself to go on. She has to.

* * *

The woods are roped off with caution tape and she has officers combing for evidence and patrolling the scene. Dark, rustling leaves are caked and soaked through with blood and Mona Vanderwaal's been sent to the morgue for her autopsy. It feels like déjà vu; this is the case that had brought Tanner here in the first place, this whole Alison-Mona mess, only this time, they have a real body to deal with and no real killer. She drops Lorenzo's suspension after fourteen hours, Toby's after ten. She needs all hands on deck here, and while she isn't pleased that they went off book, went rogue, all because of a handful of tips from teenage girls, she's willing to overlook it in the grand scheme of things. They've got bigger things to deal with.

She's got Toby cataloging evidence and Lorenzo putting a search team together to further their investigation. Tanner herself is poring over the details of that night and picking a few officers to rotate around the girls' hospital rooms when the doors to her office burst open. In storms a handful of men and two women in dark uniforms like her own, but theirs read, in bright yellow letters, "FBI." She stares endlessly at them for a solid few minutes before the leader of the pack clears his throat and removes his sunglasses; it makes her smirk. Sunglasses? At night? And here she thought the FBI only wore them in movies. She stands to meet their height, comes around the desk, and offers her hand.

"Detective Linda Tanner," She says. "How may I help you?"

"Are you the one in charge here?" The man at the head of the pack asks and she nods.

"Yes I am." Tanner nods somewhat proudly. "I'm the head of the department. Everything that happens in this building gets run by me first."

The man smiles wryly. "Not for long. Sit down, Detective. You've got some explaining to do."

Tanner frowns and sinks back into her chair. "What's this about?"

"My name is Agent Lawson," The man introduces himself. "We've been keeping a close eye on this case ever since those six girls were retrieved from the search and rescue mission a month earlier. I understand you still have not caught the perpetrator?"

"Not yet," Tanner admits. "We've come close numerous times, but-"

"I'm afraid 'close' doesn't count, Detective," Lawson cuts her off. "My team and I have been doing extensive research on this case and it's gotten extremely out of hand. For instance, the kidnapping of these teenagers was the culmination of two years' worth of cyber stalking, physical harm and numerous counts of attempted murder?"

"Yes," Tanner's lips are pursed. "But-"

"The measures you've taken in keeping these young girls safe and protected are ill-fated and seemingly inadequate," Lawson continues. "A couple of cops outside their dwellings aren't going to keep the perpetrator from striking again, as evident by tonight's circumstances."

"Tonight was a special case," Tanner attempts in defense. "The girls weren't supposed to be at the school prom and-"

"Even still," Lawson says. "Your sorry attempts and scant coverage resulted in the murder of an eighteen-year-old girl. Mona Vanderwaal's blood is on your hands and you should be ashamed of yourself and your force."

"Sir, you have to understand-"

"No, _you_ have to understand," A woman from the back of the group cuts in. "Rosewood's police force is the laughing stock of Pennsylvania. We're ordering a full investigation of each and every one of your officers and those who pass get to stay. Those who fail will result in the revoking of their licenses and the banning of ever working for the force ever again."

"Detective Tanner," Lawson sighs. "We really don't want to have to do this, but you're leaving us no choice. You were told to end this for these girls and you failed in doing so. Now, we have to step in, clean up your mess, and finish what you started."

Tanner's livid. "And just _what_ exactly are you saying?"

"We're saying, Detective, that this case is no longer in your hands," The woman tells her. "The FBI will handle all matters from here on out. Stick to stolen bicycles and parking tickets. They're more your speed."

The agents begin to make a retreat, leaving Tanner, dumbfounded, in the dust. Lawson adds, "You had your chance. You blew it. It's time we handled this _our_ way."

Tanner wonders, "And what am I supposed to tell my team?"

"Tell them," Lawson lowers his sunglasses once more. "The FBI is taking over. They're no longer needed."

* * *

"Did any of you sleep last night?"

It's an obvious question and they all know it. Here they are, back in the hospital, their cuts and bruises tended to, but nothing can staunch the wounds in the minds and hearts. The sun's come up on a brand new day, but everything's different and yet still somehow exactly the same. They're curled up, all five of them, on Emily's tiny hospital bed, and they're not sure how they're going to move on from this, but they have no choice but to try. Hanna's long since stopped scream crying, but she's got a hollowed, empty look in her eyes and Alison's definitely still in shock, for she's never been this quiet. In an effort to spark some sort of conversation amongst them, Aria's asked the silly question, even though she already knows the answer.

"Of course not," Spencer answers anyway. "Every time I closed my eyes…"

"I kept hearing her scream," Emily fills in. "I kept seeing the gun and the blood and her eyes… They were so wide. They were glowing."

"It was meant for me," Alison says and the girls eyes snap to her, because it's the first thing she's said since the night before. "That bullet was meant for me. He aimed at me and…"

Hanna deadpans, "Mona got in the way."

"She told me…" Alison states. "She told me that she wanted to help. That she owed me more than a car ride."

"Wait," Emily shakes her head. "Are you saying that she got in the way on purpose?"

"You think Mona took that bullet for you?" Aria asks gently.

"Well, don't you?" Alison asks. "It makes sense."

"No, it doesn't, not really," Spencer disagrees and when the others shoot her a look, she backs it up. "I'm serious. There's a difference between owing someone your life and _literally_ owing someone your life. One's an expression and the other… Look, I'm not saying Charles is a bad shot. But we were all huddled around you. That bullet could've hit _any_ of us."

"Well, it didn't. It hit Mona," Hanna says. "And whether she did it on purpose or Charles took her as collateral damage, that doesn't change the fact that she's gone."

They have to give her that one. After a long silence, Emily asks, "Now what?"

"I don't know," Aria shrugs. "We can't keep doing this. We can't keep agreeing to meet him in secret."

"If we don't, he won't show," Alison points out. "But if we do, someone always ends up dead."

"I'm just so tired of this," Spencer frowns. "The lying, the running, the secrecy…"

"Yeah, but what else are we supposed to do?" Hanna points out. "I mean, people know the truth now; _everyone_ knows about Charles and it's like it's getting worse."

"If we can't lie," Aria says. "And we can't tell the truth, what are we supposed to do?"

"Be silent," Alison says ruefully.

"Yeah," Spencer sighs. "He's trying to shut us up. For _good_."

There's a knock on the door and Pam Fields enters, a warm smile on her face despite the horrors she knows her daughter and her friends have endured. It's only when she's stepped a little closer that the girls notice the despair on her face. Emily asks, "Mom, what's wrong?"

"There's an FBI agent waiting down the hall," Pam tells them. "He wants to speak with you. All of you."

They stand and follow her warily down the hall, where she pushes open a door and reveals a handful of agents in suits and the rest of their parental units. A tall, burly man in the middle nods and says, "Girls. Welcome. We've been waiting for you."

Spencer turns towards her mother, suspicious. "What's this about?"

Veronica's eyes are red-rimmed and Spencer's immediately on edge. "Honey, this is Agent Lawson of the FBI. He has… He wants to talk to you girls."

"You must be Spencer," Lawson nods curtly. "Pleasure."

"Yeah," She says. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Well, it's come to the attention of the FBI that this stalker of yours, this killer by the alleged name of Charles DiLaurentis has been pursuing you girls for almost two years now."

"Over," Alison chimes in, crossing her arms over her chest. "Over two years."

"I see," Lawson replies. "We've reviewed all instances in this case and have deemed it no longer necessary for the Rosewood Police Department to have any involvement at all."

"What?" Aria exclaims. "You're taking away our protection?"

"Aria, you've misunderstood," Ella soothes her daughter, her own voice wavering.

"Yes," A woman in the back of the group agrees. "What he means is the bumbling, doddering fools on your local police department will no longer be at the forefront of this case. Frankly, we should have intervened _months_ ago."

"So this case is going to the FBI?" Hanna wonders and Lawson nods.

"Precisely," He agrees. "However, due to the nature of the case and how dangerous we feel your stalker is, we've also decided to, shall we say, up the ante on our protection of you girls as well."

Alison scoffs. "Glad somebody has."

"While we search for and retrieve this perpetrator, we find it incumbent that the five of you girls leave Rosewood behind," Lawson explains. "Henceforth, we are hereby instating the five of you, and _only_ the five of you, into the Witness Protection Program, effective immediately."

At first, there's silence. Then, utter outrage.

"You can't be serious!" Emily exclaims.

"You've got to be _freaking_ kidding me!" Hanna shrieks.

"Mom!" Spencer shouts. "You _can't_ let them do this!"

"Just the five of us?" Aria argues. " _Alone_?"

"We haven't even graduated high school yet," Alison spits out. "And we're supposed to just assume new identities and move on with our lives?"

"Seeing as you're all eighteen, in the eyes of the law, you're all adults," Lawson explains. "I understand your frustration, but unfortunately, since you _are_ legal adults, you will not be allowed to take family members with you."

"Mom," Spencer pleads again. "Please, _please_ , do something!"

"Honey," Veronica croons. "I can't. It's the FBI, Spencer. They've got final say, here."

"And honestly," Peter sighs. "We think it's a good idea."

"You _what?_ " Spencer draws back as though she's been slapped and Veronica frowns.

"Spencer, I don't want you going anywhere," She counters. "But it's become pretty clear that we can't protect you. They can."

"Mom, please don't make me go," Hanna pleads, turning to Ashley with wet eyes. "I can't do this alone. Please!"

Ashley's got a look of utter torment in her eyes. "Hanna, there is _nothing_ I want more than for you to be with me. Except… Except for you to be safe. And I know this is going to be difficult but you have to think about what's best for you."

"Think of it as going away for camp, or for college," Pam offers and Emily sneers angrily.

"Except I can't come home. _Ever_ ," Emily growls. "I can't call, I can't write… I have to pretend I don't even _know_ you."

"It's not forever," Ella points out and Byron nods encouragingly. "It's just until this psychopath is found and captured."

"Yeah, but in the meantime?" Aria argues. "I have to go on like nothing is wrong? And how am I supposed to do that? Without you guys? Without my _friends?_ "

In the angry, despaired silence that follows, Lawson clears his throat and says, "I'm terribly sorry that it has to come to this. Our hope is that it takes a year or less to find and capture this supposed Charles DiLaurentis and after that time, you can reassume your natural identities."

Spencer scoffs. "As if it's that simple."

"You'll have 48 hours to complete anything needing your completion and say goodbye to the ones you love," Lawson dictates. "At the end of those 48 hours, you'll report to the local police department and we'll go from there. If you do not report to us, we will come for you. Please, make it easy on us and don't try to run. We'll find you."

He collects his things, bids the girls adieu, and leads his team out of the room. Each set of parents attempts conversation with their daughter and all of them fail. After all, there's not much else to say.

Spencer returns from the hospital feeling numb. Every time she's down, she thinks she's hit rock bottom. Then, a door opens, the bottom disappears, and she falls down the rabbit hole once more.

This time, her moment comes when she receives a text from Toby, asking to meet her for lunch, and her heart swells and clenches and nearly arrests. 48 hours. She has 48 hours before she has to say goodbye to him…

Forever.


	2. Two

**Hello friends! Wow, can I just say that I am completely blown away and overwhelmed by your responses to the last chapter? You guys are literally the greatest readers and reviewers any girl could ever ask for. I literally love all of you so much and I hope you don't hate me for the heartbreak I'm about to put Spencer and Toby through. You know I love my drama, but I promise there will be happiness in the end.  
**

 **So yeah. I honestly don't even know if I have anything else to say, because I'm still pretty much in shock over how much love you've already given me. Please keep it coming and I'll try to get these updates out as speedily as possible. I love you all. Keep on keeping on. :)**

* * *

Two

He's bored out of his mind. Granted, he never really liked his job anyway; being a police officer is more downs than it is ups, more of a burden than a privilege. He hadn't joined out of his own accord anyway, but still, he's bored. First, he'd been suspended following the whole gummy bear, arcade fiasco and Tanner was looking at him like he'd robbed a bank or something. Then, just a few hours later, Tanner lifted his suspension and employed him in the further investigation of Mona's death. Then, the entire department had been thwarted by the arrival of the FBI and now, he and the rest of his colleagues are pending an investigation. His record's clean; he's done nothing wrong and he isn't worried. He can't say the same for some of the other officers here.

Now, he's waiting at the Grille for Spencer, a lunch date in their cards on this beautiful day. It's sunny, mild, and there isn't a single cloud in the sky, so he's chosen a table outside, right by the door. He'd offered to pick her up and she'd declined, citing wanting to take advantage of the day and simply walk. So he's parked on the street, ordered them a couple of drinks and is awaiting her patiently. He's kind of worried about where her head is; last night, though she'd hardly ever been Mona's biggest fan, watching the life leave her eyes had been a truly traumatic experience. In mere minutes, he sees her and greets her with a hug that she returns distractedly.

She orders a chicken salad sandwich and that's Toby's first clue that something's off. She _hates_ chicken salad; hates the texture, complains about the variations and the mix-ins. He eyes her, notes she's avoiding his gaze, and asks, "Are you alright?"

She nods. "Fine."

"How are the girls?"

"Hanging in there," She says. "As best they can."

She stirs the ice in her mason jar with the straw and remains silent. Toby prods a bit further, "Is this about Mona?"

"No. No, it's not, I just…" Spencer sighs, meeting his eyes for the first time. "I'm just tired. I didn't sleep at all last night."

"I can't blame you, there," Toby says. "Do you have plans after lunch? Do you want to maybe come over and talk? Or not talk, we could just… I don't know. Take a nap."

She smiles slightly but says, "That sounds nice, but I've got a lot of work to do. A paper and some studying… Or something."

She's lying. He has no idea why. There's something she's not telling him but before he can get to the bottom of it, their waitress brings their food and Toby thanks her. Before he can dig in, Spencer glances at her sandwich and says, "She brought me tuna. I ordered chicken salad."

"Oh," Toby shrugs. "Well you don't even like chicken salad. Tuna's okay, right?"

But tears fill her eyes and her voice wavers and she insists, "But I ordered chicken salad."

And suddenly she's weeping, openly weeping, and she cannot stop. People are starting to stare and Toby, alarmed, asks, "Do you want me to get her to take it back?"

"I don't even like chicken salad," She continues to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't do this. Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah," Toby nods, still dumbfounded. "Yeah, okay."

He fishes in his pocket for his wallet but Spencer's ahead of him, still bawling when she drops a handful of bills on the table. "No, my treat. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

"Spencer," He shakes his head. "It's okay."

They stand and he wraps an arm around her shoulder and brings her body into his. Gently, he opens the car door and waits for her to safely tuck herself inside before he shuts it behind her. He gets into the truck and they drive back to his loft, instinct telling him she'd rather not be home right about now. He's right. She's still crying, her chest still heaving guttural, heart-wrenching sobs, and it's absolutely killing him to see her like this. He doesn't think this is because of Mona, anymore. It's something else, something deeper, something causing her so much despair that her heart simply cannot keep up. He parks, retrieves her, and keeps her close as they ascend the stairs, unlock the door and collapse onto the couch. She still hasn't said a word; she's holding onto him aggressively and shattering his heart with each shuddering breath, but he has no idea what's hurting her this much.

"Spencer…" He starts, rubbing her back and pressing a kiss into her hair.

She tries to draw in a deep breath. It's shaky at best. "I can't."

"It's okay," He shakes his head, struggles to find the words to soothe her. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong, okay? I'm here for you. I'll help you through it. I'm here."

Somehow, this makes her sob even harder. He holds her tighter, as though that'll help. She wails, "No. I _have_ to. But I _can't_."

This has piqued his interest, however. "You have to do what, babe? Whatever it is, we can handle it, you and me. We've got this."

She swallows hard and sits back, pulls away from him just a bit. "My parents… In the hospital this morning, they had us talk to… Talk to some agents from the FBI."

"Oh yeah, the FBI," Toby nods. "They're taking over. They've started an investigation of the whole force."

"That's not all," Spencer says, her breathing hitched. "They want us to leave Rosewood. They're forcing us… Me, Emily, Aria, Hanna and Alison… They're forcing us to join the Witness Protection Program."

Toby's eyes widen. "The what?"

"We have 48," Spencer chokes out, barely stringing coherent sentences together. "48 hours t-to say… To say g-goodbye."

And there it is, it's out in the open, and he has no idea what to say, so he says nothing at all. Her sobs are violent and it's been so long since he's seen her cry like this and he never thought she'd have a reason to again. He should've known, with the life she leads, that he'd be proven wrong. For once, there isn't anything he can say in an attempt to make her feel better; he's completely at a loss for words. He suspects she doesn't want to do much talking, anyway; she's completely distraught. So instead, he settles for holding her, just holding her, as she deconstructs before him. In short, he's still processing the news. He can't fathom how anyone thinks this is a good idea… until he can. It is the most desperate of measures to keep the girls safe and since nothing else has worked thus far, he has to admit, he understands the line of thinking. He took all the courses in the academy and he knows the Witness Protection Program is the ultimate last resort; it's a difficult and involved process, wiping clean and starting anew.

So he gets it; really, he does. From a cop standpoint, it makes sense and he should've seen it coming long before Mona's death. But he's not a cop, right now. Right now, he's a nineteen-year-old boy deeply in love with a mess of a girl in a heap of trouble and he's just been told she's going to be taken away from him for good. Don't they understand that they're all the other has? Don't they understand that the only reason they've gotten as far as they have is because they had each other all along? So from a cop's perspective, sure, but as her boyfriend, he's internally losing his mind. He loves her, he _needs_ her, and he can't let her go. They've never been good at letting the other go; their entire relationship history points to that. And suddenly, a sick feeling of dread creeps into the pit of his stomach and sets up camp. Anxiety and fear soon follow.

Once upon a time, Toby Cavanaugh had been quiet and humble, mild-mannered and low-key, and had tried to stay out of everyone's way. It rarely worked; he'd been picked on and tortured and bullied mercilessly. He'd lost the only person to ever truly understand him, the one person who loved him without question, and he'd been forced to live with the thought that she'd committed suicide; she'd left him willingly. He'd been abused and accused of countless heinous acts and his life spiraled so far out of his control that it made his head spin. He was lonely; he was _alone_. And then he wasn't; she came into his life, lifted him from obscurity, and believed in him until he was forced to believe in himself. She is the light on his darkest days, the reason he never gives up and the absolute love of his life. And now, he's going to lose her.

She's stopped crying, but her breathing has yet to return to normal and her grip on him hasn't loosened in the slightest. Neither of them has said a word, but really, there isn't much to say. He presses a kiss to her hair, her crown, her temple, her cheek, her forehead… His lips soon cover any and every visible inch of her and he suddenly feels like he doesn't kiss her enough, even though some days they're so physically attached to one another that he's sure they'll suffocate. She doesn't seem to mind. But her lower lip quivers and tears well in her eyes again and they can't go there again. They've got 48 hours. They'll cry then.

He swipes his thumbs across her cheeks, chases the tears away with a few tender kisses, and suggests, "Let's take that nap, okay? You look exhausted."

She nods feebly and he scrunches downward, lying back against the couch and pulling her directly on top of him. Her head is tucked just beneath his chin and her arms are encircling his waist just as he runs his fingers through her hair, draws lazy patterns on her back. She's asleep within minutes, some strange combination of his ministrations, unparalleled exhaustion, and him. He wishes it were that easy for him. Instead, he reaches upward, grasps the quilt draped across the back of the couch and surrounds their entwined bodies with it. He watches clouds race over the sky, sunlight splay across the floor of his loft and birds weave a nest in the tree outside his window. Car horns beep and noise from The Brew sounds from downstairs, but it doesn't stir Spencer, and he's glad. She needs this nap more than he does, but her even breathing lulls him into an eventual sleep anyway.

In his dream, they're waiting for a train. It's sunny, the sky is blue and there are birds chirping and swooping all around them. They're hand in hand and then they're not. When the train arrives, he looks at her, and it's Spencer, but it's not anymore. She's got red hair, green eyes, bold makeup and a cocktail dress, and she's looking at him like he's a total stranger. She gets on the train in handcuffs and he's paralyzed to the spot. He can't go with her. He shouts her name, but she doesn't turn around. She doesn't recognize him at all.

And now it's raining, thunder crashing all around him, and he's standing there alone.

* * *

She's never really noticed this before, but her room is a shrine to the person she once was. It isn't a cozy living space, it isn't a place she can relax in; it's like a museum and she's never really paid enough attention to all the details, but that's all she's got time for, now. She'd left Toby's a little over an hour ago, met the girls for coffee and cried a little bit more. Honestly, she's so emotionally drained, she has no idea how she still has tears left to spare. She feels like a zombie, dead behind the eyes, as she walks aimlessly around her bedroom, taking in all the things she was and all the things she can no longer be. Shiny decathlon trophies, plaques from field hockey tournaments, shiny blue ribbons from her equestrian days… All in mint condition, all first place. She looks at them, runs her hands over each and every one of them and looks at the embossed and engraved dedication. _Spencer Hastings_.

The last time she'd stopped being Spencer Hastings had been months and months earlier, in her weekend visit to the Sanitarium. Honestly, there's so much from those 72 hours she barely remembers, but what she does remember is the relief and freedom she gained from being called Jane Doe. Jane Doe had no parents, no friends, no back story, but Jane Doe also had no torture, no torment, no fear. She remembers the thrill of the idea of a new identity; she could decide what Jane had and hadn't experienced, she could decide what her strengths and weaknesses are, instead of constantly being reminded in the worst of ways. Mostly, she remembers how good it felt to take a break from the burden that was being Spencer Hastings. There were no expectations and no limitations. And that was more than she could've ever asked for.

It didn't last, of course, and to be honest, she's glad it didn't. But now… Now she really _is_ gaining a new identity and Spencer Hastings will no longer exist. She wonders how it's going to happen; are they going to erase her from her family and friends' memories? Go through her mother's photo albums and tear the glossy 5x9s in half? Photoshop a dog or maybe a landscape into the pictures of her and Melissa playing as children? Are they just supposed to forget? Is a stranger going to bump into her mother in the grocery store, ask about her, and have Veronica reply, "Spencer? Who's Spencer?" She wonders if there's some sort of memory-erasing machine, like in the _Men in Black_ series; one giant white flash and she'll be gone from their minds forever. She's knows she's being ridiculous. But there's nothing about this scenario that isn't.

Spencer stops dead when she reaches the corner of her room, where the rocking chair rests. She can handle a world without her sister; she's basically living in one, now, ever since Melissa confessed to burying Bethany alive. It'll take some time, but she can get through this without her parents, too; she can count on one hand the amount of times her father's hugged her and heart-to-hearts with her mother barely exist. In time, Spencer knows she can probably build the courage to make new friends, too; no one will ever replace her three amigos, and she'll never be able to forget them no matter _what_ the FBI forces her to do, but she can move on. She's done it before. But that leaves Toby and she honestly, with every single fiber of her being, does not believe she can make it without him. He's the reason she's still here today and the fact that these people can't see that absolutely baffles her.

Her hands dance across the smooth wood, Toby's expert craftsmanship giving way to one of her most prized possessions. Carefully, she turns, digs through her drawers to find that old blue shirt of his, and slips out of her blouse and jeans. She pulls the shirt over her head, feeling all his love and all his comfort as though the elements are woven into the fabric, and, miraculously, it still somehow smells like him, a smell she's associated as being the most soothing scent in the world. She wraps her arms around herself and it's almost like they're back in that motel all over again ( _Top or bottom? I'm just kidding_.). She finds herself sinking into the rocking chair, pulling her knees to her chest, slowly pitching back and forth ( _Will you make me something? I already have._ ). Tears sting at her eyes and she almost laughs. She has a killer headache. She's never cried this much in her life.

A knock on her bedroom door snaps her out of her melancholic reverie. She wipes at her eyes hastily as Veronica enters and sits on the bed before her. "Your father's just gone to pick Melissa up from the airport. They're bringing dinner back on the way. What are you in the mood for? Anything you want. Thai, Chinese, pizza-"

Spencer shakes her head, avoids her mother's gaze. "I'm not hungry."

Veronica purses her lips and Spencer can tell she's struggling. This is the kind of parenting she's never been good at. "Honey, I know you're angry with me and you have every right to be. But I just _wish_ you could see that we're doing this for you, not to you."

"And I wish you could see that you're basically ruining my entire life," Spencer deadpans. "No, worse than that, you're _erasing_ it. I feel like a toddler being put in time out."

"That's not what it's like."

"Isn't it?" Spencer counters. "Plucking me out of Rosewood and sticking me in solitary confinement? In the middle of nowhere where I don't know anyone? Banning me from calling my friends or…"

She trails off and her voice breaks as she finishes, "Or Toby…"

"Do you think I like this, Spencer? It wasn't my idea," Veronica argues back. "I don't want my eighteen-year-old daughter out there, somewhere, pretending to be someone she isn't. I don't want to pretend you don't exist. I'm your mother. _I'm_ supposed to protect you. But… But I can't, sweetie. And I don't want you to end up… I don't want to be called in to identify your body."

Spencer's eyes snap to her mother's face and for the first time, she sees the grief and terror that must be mirrored in her own eyes. Veronica continues, "When he took you girls… When you were missing for those three weeks… Spencer, I thought it was going to be another Alison situation. I thought they were going to be finding your body. I thought I was going to have to shop for caskets. I thought I was going to outlive my child…"

"And then," She goes on. "When I sat down with Toby and he told me everything… How this was an ongoing thing, how this guy has been stalking you girls for _years_ … Spencer, I felt like the worst mother on the entire planet. Because _how_ could I not have seen this? How could you go through something like this, something so horrifying, something so awful, and not tell me?"

"I didn't have a choice," Spencer emits and Veronica nods.

"I know. I understand that," She says. "And since I can understand you, I'm hoping you'll understand this, someday. Because Spencer… I don't have a choice, either."

Veronica stands but she barely graces the doorway when Spencer asks, "What are you going to tell people?"

Her mother turns. "What?"

"The club. Grandma and Grandpa. People at work," Spencer lists. "When they ask about me, what are you going to tell them? That I'm dead? That I disappeared?"

"Spencer, no," Veronica easily negates and she sinks back onto her daughter's bed. "We haven't come up with anything yet, your father and I. But we can't tell them the truth and we're _definitely_ not saying you're gone."

"So what? I'm just around?" Spencer shrugs. "Floating in an abyss somewhere until this is all over and I show up again like nothing's changed?"

"I don't know, honey," She sighs. "This whole thing is complicated."

Spencer scoffs. "Yeah, you're telling me."

Veronica inhales a deep breath and starts over. "Did you see the girls today?"

"We got coffee."

"And what about tomorrow?"

"We're going for breakfast," Spencer replies softly. "Assuming Hanna rolls out of bed before noon."

Veronica smiles at the notion and then asks, cautiously, "How did Toby take the news?"

"Um… He didn't, really," Spencer says, remembering their awful afternoon. "I cried over chicken salad and then told him and I sat there, bawling my eyes out, while he held onto me and said nothing. And then we sort of fell asleep and when I woke up, Emily had texted me inviting us all for coffee and he said I should go. So I did."

"He's probably in shock," Veronica frowns. "Poor kid."

"Yeah, Mom, I think we all are," Spencer replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You dropped this bomb on us and we're just now trying to take cover."

After a beat of silence and in a moment of weakness, she lifts her head from her arms and asks, "Do you think they'll let him come with me? If I ask nicely? If I make a good enough case?"

Veronica closes her eyes. "Oh Spencer…"

"No, think about it, because he's a cop, right?" Spencer babbles on. "And who better to protect me than a cop? I mean, I'm bound to have one watching my every move 24-7 anyway and I'd rather it be someone I know than some stranger in his thirties with a comb over and a beer belly and-"

"Honey, I know saying goodbye to Toby is going to be hard for you," Veronica places a hand on her knee, stopping her rambling. "I know it. I've seen the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. I also know what I've walked in on in many different circumstances. But that's not going to happen. You _know_ it's not going to happen. It's you and the girls and no one else. No contact whatsoever."

Spencer looks almost desperate. "But-"

"It won't last long," Veronica assures her. "Agent Lawson thinks it should take under a year. This could be good for you."

"You're isolating me," Spencer frowns, heartbroken. "You're taking me away from anyone who's ever cared about me and leaving me with strangers."

"I know this looks and feels like the end of the world to you," Veronica says. "But it's not."

She squeezes her daughter's knee and stands, heading for the doorway. "How about Thai food? We haven't had it in a while."

Spencer remains behind her closed door the rest of the night. Her plate goes untouched.

* * *

There's a knot in his stomach and he feels like he's going to be sick. Usually, having Spencer in his presence alleviates any kind of terrible feeling he has, but tonight, it's only making it worse. She leaves first thing in the morning and he'll likely never see her again. There's a pit the size of a bowling ball in his stomach and every time he thinks of tomorrow morning, it pitches and rolls and threatens to crush him. He's trying to give her all the time she needs with everyone in her life; she spent the morning with the girls and the afternoon with her parents, and now, it's six o'clock and she's just knocked on his doorstep. He has no idea what's in store for the next few hours; how does he fit a lifetime of activities into just one night? But he swings open the door and she nearly attacks him with a dozen kisses as he reaches out, blindly, and shuts the front door behind her. She drops an overnight bag at his feet and he almost laughs, because she's come prepared, but they both know she'll be wearing his clothes, anyway.

"Did your parents give you a hard time?" He asks, his hands somewhere beneath her shirt.

"Not really," She shakes her head, her arms looped around his neck. "I think they already kind of expected it."

"It's safe to say from our last sleepover your Dad witnessed," Toby breathes against her neck. "That they know we've been bed buddies for a while."

"I told them I was spending the night here, with you," Spencer tells him candidly. "I'm done trying to hide from them. I don't care if they picture it the entire night."

"Whoa," Toby pulls back abruptly. "I do."

She purses her lips. "My Dad turned beet red and I'm sure he would've said _something_ if my Mom wasn't there. She told me to be careful. She isn't ready to make her television debut on _Teen Mom_."

At this, Toby chuckles. "There are no babies in our future. At least, not for a long, _long_ time…"

But then he trails off at the look in her eyes and he has to rewind his words and pause at the moment he lost her. _Their future_. Also known as the next eighteen hours. He frowns, too, and she glances down, her arms dropping from their place around his neck. He asks, "So… What do you want to do first? Make some dinner? Are you hungry?"

"Sure," She says quietly. "Yeah, let's do that."

They turn towards the kitchen and craft a beautifully prepared lasagna in silence. He layers the noodles, she spreads the sauce, they sprinkle the cheese. He sets the table, she pours the wine, they fix the timer. They spend the entire half hour it's baking making out against the refrigerator and that bowling ball in Toby's stomach lessens just a tad and desire to be with the girl he loves replaces it, for now. He tries to quiet it; now is not the time. The timer beeping into the silence of his loft is like a bucket of cold water and they're startled from their foggy haze of love and lust. Spencer pulls it from the oven and Toby cuts them both a slice. They're seated before one another, clink their glasses together in a toast ("What are we celebrating?" Toby asks quietly and Spencer looks wistful and nostalgic when she says, "Us. You and me and our relationship and everything we've overcome," and then the bowling ball is back) and take sips of wine as they push the noodles around on their plate. Neither of them takes a single bite.

In fifteen minutes, Toby says, "I think I'm done."

"Me too," Spencer agrees and if this were any other night, one of them would likely comment on how you can't really finish something you never started. But instead, Spencer asks, "Maybe we could play Scrabble? Like old times?"

He smiles longingly. "Of course. Let me clean up a bit."

She nods. "I'll help."

They pack leftovers in his fridge and load the dishwasher and retreat to his bedroom. He's still in the living room, searching for the game board and when he finds it, he carries it to the back room and finds Spencer there, already in a pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he'd been wearing all day. He grins, but something deep inside him cuts like a knife. She's running her fingers over a picture frame on his bedside table and he knows she's committing the photo to memory. It's a picture of them, of course, and it's his favorite; on his toughest days (meaning, the weeks before her kidnapping, when they were lying and barely speaking to one another), he'd look at that photo and know that somehow, they were going to be all right. They'd find their way back to one another, in the end. And they always do. That is, they always _did_.

"I can't believe you have this one in here," She comments softly. "I look _awful_."

"You look beautiful," Toby disagrees. "You always do. I'm going to put up more. I'm going to fill my room with pictures of you… Pictures of us. And that way…"

He doesn't finish his sentence; he doesn't have to. She's already heard the unspoken ending. She clears her throat, sits down on his bed and asks, "Did you bring the game? Can I have first word?"

He nods and sits beside her. "Sure."

Like their appetite, however, the normal competitive zeal they have when playing Scrabble is noticeably absent. Toby's losing, for one, but Spencer's heart isn't exactly in the game, either. She thinks for just a moment before placing down the word 'LOST.' Toby asks, "Why did you play that?"

"Because," She sighs. "That's how I felt before I met you. And that's how I feel now, knowing that we can never be together."

Toby's heart breaks nearly in half. He cups her cheek and pleads, "Don't say that."

"But it's true," She shrugs helplessly. "We're never going to see each other again. I'm going to leave tomorrow and… I'm not coming back."

Toby reaches forward, picks up the Scrabble board and places it gently on his bedroom floor. It's their game and it always will be, but now is not the time. He crawls back towards her and kisses her tenderly, but she's way ahead of him, and what starts out slow and romantic doesn't stay that way for long. Soon, they're kissing passionately, earnestly, hungrily, and tearing at one another's clothes and it makes sense, really, that they weren't able to eat or play Scrabble, but they're able to do this. They're always able to do this. And it's because this was never going to be some big, overdramatic goodbye. It's going to be them; just Spencer and Toby and their bodies worshipping one another's, because for them, actions have always spoken louder than words. And for them, sex isn't about the actual, physical act. It's about the closeness, the intimacy, the honesty, the tenderness and the raw, unadulterated love.

They have sex once and then twice and then three times, and then they stop counting. They make love over and over and over again and in between rounds, they lie in each other's arms and stare, just stare at one another, trace their naked bodies with sweaty fingertips and press kisses all over bare skin, committing one another to memory. At one point, Toby captures her lips and can hear his own heartbeat dancing wildly with hers when he says, "I love you so much."

"Don't do that," She replies instead. "Don't even think about saying goodbye to me right now."

"I'm not," He shakes his head and kisses her again. "But I love you. And I need you to know that."

"I do," She says. "You know I do."

He pushes back damp hair from her face and says, "I'll never love anyone like I love you."

She rolls on top of him, ghosts her lips over his, and then whispers, "You have to try."

His eyes widen and darken slightly. "Why? Why would I do that?"

"Because I don't want you to be miserable," She admits and her voice trembles only slightly. "I want you to move on. I want you… to be happy."

Stubbornly, he shakes his head, kisses her again. " _You_ make me happy."

Her face crumbles and she says, "But I can't. Not anymore. Just… Just promise me you'll try. Promise me. Please. Please, Toby, please just promise me."

"Okay," He says reluctantly, only because he senses a bout of hysteria is near. "But it won't work. I'm yours. Always."

The look on her face tells him she's going to burst into tears. She doesn't and they make love again instead. Hours pass and he's kissing her neck when she admits, in a tiny voice, "I'm scared."

And there's a million things he could say- _Don't be scared. You'll be okay. It'll all be all right. You're going to make it through this. You're the strongest person I know_. But he doesn't, because he knows she's heard it all before; he's told her a dozen times and she's never really taken it all in. So instead, he holds her a bit tighter, shielding her from her fears if only for a little while, and says, "I know, babe. I'm scared, too."

It's after four a.m. when they have to stop having sex because they're trembling too violently and crying too hard to continue. He's leaning against the headboard with her in his lap, and she keeps running her hands over his face like she'll be able to erase the tears and sorrows from his visage. Fat chance of that. Her own eyes are spilling over and she says, "Toby… Toby, you have to forget about me."

Just the idea sends that old bowling ball spinning and he shakes his head, refusing. "I can't."

"You have to," She pleads. "Leave Rosewood like you always wanted. Get a job doing something you're good at, something you love. Find someone who can be honest with you… Someone who you can trust. Someone you can love. And forget about me. Forget I ever exis-"

"Spencer, _stop_ ," He bellows brokenly. "I can't. I won't."

"But you _have_ to," She repeats woefully. "And I have to forget you."

"Tell me you will," Toby challenges her. "Tell me you're actually going to do it and I will too."

She bites her lip and he has his answer. "Well, there you go."

She lets out a sob and collapses against him, thoroughly spent. "Why are you making this so hard?"

"I'm not making this hard, Spence," He rubs her back. "It just _is_ hard. But we're going to do this because… Because we have to."

"We have to," She repeats miserably.

"It's only for a little while," He says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "We'll find Charles and then… Then we can bring you all home."

"Toby, please," She sits back, meets his eyes. "Please don't try and help them capture him. Please stay out of harm's way. _Please_ don't get hurt."

"I'll be careful," He promises. "But I'm finishing what I started."

"Toby-"

"You're not going to talk me out of it," Toby remains firm. "You can try and make me move on, but you're not going to make me give up on this."

She looks at him for a long time and gives in, climbing off of him and reaching somewhere in the depths of his room for the clothing she'd been wearing. He follows suit, pulls both of them into a horizontal position and pulls his comforter around them. Her head's over his heart when she says, "You're going to be okay. You will."

Just hearing this from her own mouth instigates a fresh batch of salty tears. He does nothing to wipe them away. "I won't. Spencer… It's you and… God, I _need_ you. I can't believe they're doing this to us."

He hears her sniffle and his t-shirt is dampened in moments with her tears. "I just need you to know how much you mean to me. How… How you're the only thing that's gotten me through."

"I do. I know," Toby assures her. "It's not… They'll find him, and-"

"You know how I feel about hope," She says and he frowns.

"They're taking you away from me, Spencer," Toby sighs. "Hope is… Hope is all I've got left."

It's quiet and then she says, "I love you. I-I love you and… I need you to promise me that you'll be happy. Please. I can't… I can't _bear_ the thought of you… Of… Promise me."

He counters, "I will if you will."

And there's no more conversation, after that. Neither one makes the promise and instead of falling into what would be a restless sleep, they lie awake until the sunrise, in each other's arms, and make love one final time. They dress in silence, head downstairs, hand in hand, for a cup of coffee, and it's the beginning of the end.

* * *

"Girls, it's time for you to say your final goodbyes."

At the sound of Lawson's voice, the girls grip each other even harder. They've formed a tight-knit circle, arms around one another, heads bowed. Emily heaves a sigh and says, "I love you all _so_ much."

"I'm not going to cry again," Aria says, but there are already tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over. "I can't cry again. Quick- Hanna, say something funny."

"I'm not feeling funny," Hanna frowns. "Spence, bore us with your useless trivia."

"I can't think of any, right now," Spencer sniffles. "I can't believe it's come to this."

"We're going to soldier on, girls," Alison says, rounding up her troops as they prepare to head into battle. "We've dealt with worse things than total isolation and separation. We've all been threatened. We've all almost _died_. And we can handle this."

"For the record," Emily says after they've all embraced one another for a final time. "We don't hate you, Ali."

"Even though, for this, we probably should," Hanna puts in.

"Hanna," Spencer says, shaking her head.

The blonde stands strong. "What? We were all thinking it."

"I love you guys," Aria says and then their arms drop. A cool emptiness slips in instead.

Spencer turns around and Toby's there and without hesitation, she falls into his arms. She feels him take a few deep, shuddering breaths, and, bravely, dares to look at his face. It's a mistake. There are tears and sorrow and love in his eyes and heartbreak all over his face. If possible, her heart cracks even further. She runs her hands over his face, his chest, his abdomen, and says, "I don't know what else to say."

"There isn't anything," He agrees and bends to kiss her, slow and mournful. "I will _always_ love you."

Through tears, she somehow manages to choke out, "And I'll always love _you_."

She's still wiping at her eyes when she begrudgingly lets go of him and moves on to her family. Melissa collects her in a bone-crushing hug that's much too heartfelt for them. "Spencer… _Oh_ Spencer!"

"Goodbye Melissa," She says, smiling half-heartedly and turning to embrace her father and mother. "Bye Dad."

"I love you, champ," He says and his usually strong, boisterous voice betrays him today. "I'll see you soon. You'll see."

"Spencer. Oh, honey," Her mother emits, her voice tight. "I love you so much. It'll be okay. It's okay now. You're safe."

Spencer's eyes sting, her head hurts, her lips quiver; she wants to go home. But she doesn't have a home; not anymore. She glances around at all of her best friends, bawling, hugging, bidding farewell to their lovers and families, and wonders how in the world it got to this. Lawson clears his throat, nods towards the hallway where officers are waiting to escort them to their armored vans and this is her cue that it's time to go. Alison lifts her head, dignified, and goes first. Aria and Emily soon follow and Hanna has to be physically pried from her mother and Caleb's grasp. Spencer looks at each of the heartbroken faces and has one last moment of weakness. She turns back, throws an arm around Toby's neck and allows herself one last embrace. He holds her tighter than he ever has and he's whispering something she can't make out, not at first. She pulls back, looks into those beautiful blue eyes, and then she's ready.

It's what gives her the courage to walk out the door and away from her entire life. The impossible blue, the honesty and raw emotion he always gives her, the love she knows she will never be able to replicate or forget.


	3. Three

**Hello and don't hate me. I am so sorry for that last chapter. Hopefully the rest won't be as terribly tragic? Regardless, your response has been tremendous and your reviews have astounded me. I am so grateful for each and every one of you and your support means the world to me. It's honestly the reason I keep going (that, an an overactive, never-silent muse). Also, side note to one of my precious blueberries of anons, no, that one particular line was not foreshadowing. It's not that I don't think that might be a good storyline, it's just that it feels out of place and a tad unrealistic. And, Spencer's got enough on her plate, let's be real. :P  
**

 **So as always, I'm leaving you with chapter three and hoping you continue to like the path I'm taking these characters on. It might get a little rough at times but, like I said, it's not going to end as tragically as it began haha. Thank you as always for your incredible feedback and I love you all so much! And as always, that review box/PM box/Tumblr ask box is always open. Lates. :)**

* * *

Three

The van slips silently through the early morning sunshine and the pavement's still wet from an evening rainfall and tears are still dampening Spencer's cheeks. She wipes them away, leans against the glass window, and watches the blurred lines on the asphalt dance and run together. The sun is shining much too bright and there's some kind of cheery song on the radio, something giddy and bubblegum-pop, and Spencer's not in the mood. It's Lawson behind the wheel and two other agents accompanying him and she wonders if they really feel that she's _that_ dangerous that they need multiple people as backup. Rosewood disappears in the rearview mirror and it feels oddly prophetic and not at all satisfying. She's been looking forward to leaving Rosewood for as long as she can remember and now that she's actually done it, she almost wishes she could return.

Lifting her head off the glass, Spencer asks, "Now what?"

"Now," Lawson tells her. "We're headed to our field office in Philadelphia. We're going to go from there."

She purses her lips. "And what's with the van?"

"It's a formality," The woman sitting beside her says. "It's not to keep you from getting out, Spencer. It's to keep your pursuer from getting _in_."

"So where are the girls?"

"In the other vans," She answers. "Headed to the same place we are, but you won't see them again."

Spencer stares at her and asks, "And _who_ are you?"

The woman smiles. "Agent Simone. And up there is Agent Reilly. We're going to be the ones getting you started and settled. Agent Lawson has bigger fish to fry; namely, the investigation on your police force."

 _You can't just become a policeman!_

 _Why not? I thought the uniform was a turn-on_.

Spencer closes her eyes and leans back against the seat. It's been maybe twenty minutes and she already misses him desperately. How is she supposed to get through the rest of her life? They exit the highway and weave expertly through city traffic before turning down a side road and pulling up to a huge government building Spencer remembers touring on a fourth grade field trip long ago. They escort her in through the sides, swipe their IDs, enter passwords and it's all very secretive. She yearns to see just a glimpse of one of the girls; a flash of Emily's dark hair or the scent of Hanna's Chanel perfume, but she's met with nothing. There are people in suits, people in uniform, racing about, clutching briefcases and boxes labeled 'confidential' and all sorts of things that make her head spin. In another life, Spencer believes she could've been good at this sort of thing; she's tough, she doesn't take no for an answer, and she'd fight tooth and nail until she solves an impossible case. It won't happen for her, though; she doubts they'll ever take her seriously with her track record.

Simone opens a door down the hall, Lawson hands her a huge Halliburton case bursting at the seams, and then he's gone. Reilly gently ushers Spencer inside and offers her a seat, which she accepts, and coffee and a bagel, which she does not. The agents sink into chairs before her and Reilly clears his throat. "Okay, Spencer. How much do you know about the Witness Protection Program?"

"Not really anything," She shrugs. "You guys don't really _want_ us to know anything about it, do you? Isn't that the point of keeping it so secretive?"

"Precisely," Reilly explains. "Technically, the Program is usually only offered to those who have testified against a known conspirator, trafficker, murderer or terrorist, so we're making a very special case, here. Regardless, it's use is to provide governmental protection from the kind of dangers your attacker is known for and since it's implementation in 1971, no one who has followed the Program's guidelines has ever been killed."

"That's a pretty stellar track record," Spencer comments sardonically and Reilly frowns.

"Maybe I should repeat that last part for you, Spencer," He says. " _No one who has followed the Program's guidelines has ever been killed_. That being said, if you go out of your way to get yourself into trouble, if you do _anything_ that could call attention to yourself, there isn't much else we can do to protect you. Follow our rules and you'll be safe. Go against us and the consequences could be fatal."

Spencer's quiet; she's expected as much. Simone adds, "We've been following your particular case pretty closely. We understand that you and the other girls haven't exactly acted in the most logical ways in the past. Thus, if, for any reason, we suspect you may be in contact with any one of them or anyone from your past life- family members, friends, significant others- we will be forced to relocate you immediately and you'll have to begin all over again. Do you understand?"

She nods. "I understand."

"Good," Simone smiles. "Now, you are only forced to comply with the Program until your attacker has been brought to justice. Once he's been captured and imprisoned, you'll be freed of the Program and we'll be able to adjust your identity as necessary. You will be in constant contact with the FBI at all times for this reason. Everyone you come into contact with will undergo a background check at our discretion; you'll just provide us with the names and we'll do the rest. Simple."

"Yeah," Spencer scoffs. "Nothing more simple than a complete invasion of privacy."

"Spencer, there is no such thing as privacy," Reilly tells her. "Not anymore. This is how we do things because this is the way it's been proven works best. Do you have any questions on how the program works?"

She thinks a moment. "Yes, actually. So you said I'd be in constant contact with the FBI… That means what, exactly?"

"Well, you'll be on 24-hour surveillance," Reilly explains. "There will be an agent- and he's late, as usual- who will offer you 24-hour protection."

"So he's going to be _watching_ me?"

"Spencer," Simone says. "We get it; you're an adult. You don't need to be babysat. But it's par for the course; it comes with the territory. He's going to be there at all times, just in case."

She sighs and nods. "Okay."

"Okay," Reilly replies. "Now, the fun part."

He opens the Halliburton case and begins to pull out bits and pieces of things Spencer can't make out. There's a baby book, two or three dozen photographs, a birth certificate and a worn-looking baby blanket. There are a couple of yearbooks, a high school diploma, a couple of birthday cards and one half of a friendship necklace. There's a manila folder with a bunch of documents, a paper-clipped stack of newspaper clippings and a couple of blue ribbons. Spencer's wide-eyed as she takes it all in and she asks, breathless, "What is all of this?"

"This," Simone says simply. "Is your life."

And then, she looks a little closer, and realizes it _is_. The tiny girl in the photographs barely looks like her, but it's enough to be convincing. And there she is, climbing trees, hanging from monkey bars, hugging an Alaskan Husky. She's an angel in a Nativity play and stirring a bowl of cookie dough, flour on her nose, and riding a bicycle with no training wheels. She's buried up to her chin in sand on the beach and covered in mud during a rainstorm and playing tug of war on a school field in red, white and blue. She's got her first date in a prom dress and shaking hands with a school principal in a cap and gown and packing up her bedroom for a college she's apparently been accepted into. And, what's most frightening of all, she's grinning in between two happy people that are supposedly her parents. Spencer looks at this, at all of the things that are supposed to make up a life, and realizes her own, her _real_ life, is wildly inadequate.

She reaches for the birth certificate first and runs her fingers over its creases. "Katherine Wilson?"

"You were known fondly to your friends and family as Katie," Reilly says. "Although, about midway through middle school you decided that was much too _childish_ , and so now, everyone calls you Kate."

Kate; she repeats it over and over until her mind adjusts. Yeah, she can do Kate. There are so many important Kates out there; Middleton, Winslet, Upton, Hudson… she's in great company. Simone adds, "You were born on May 5th 1994 and you were the apple of your parents' eyes; they never had another. Donald's in real estate and Valerie's a kindergarten teacher and they always had time for you; you were a real family-time family. You'd spend weekends apple picking, bike riding and sailing, because your father has a boat and you live on the coast."

Spencer finds her voice. "Where?"

"Casco Bay." Simone adds. "Maine."

"Fishing's a big thing up there," Reilly tells her. "Your father taught you to fish when you were only about three. Same with sailing; you know your way around a boat, that's for sure."

Spencer shakes her head. "I don't, really."

"You better learn."

"This is Michael," Simone says, pointing to a little boy her alter ego is playing with in one of the photos. "He lived next door to you for years and years and you played together everyday. And see this?"

She holds up the prom photo and Spencer nods. "He was her prom date."

"He was _your_ prom date," Simone corrects. "He moved away in eighth grade, but he came back to take you to prom because that was the promise you made to each other when you were still little kids."

Spencer's honestly still in shock. "Where did you get these pictures? Who are these people?"

"We have our ways," Reilly smirks. "Never underestimate the power of the human race and people who are willing to make a quick buck."

"But these aren't pictures from anyone's real life, are they?" Spencer needs to know. "Before I… Before I become this girl, I have to know that she doesn't already exist."

"No, Spencer. No," Reilly almost laughs. "She's fictional. We made this whole story up. It's up to _you_ to bring it to reality."

Simone smiles wryly. "How good of an actress are you?"

"I guess we'll find out," Spencer replies and she reaches for the photos once more, studying her doppelganger's life and becoming a master in the life of Kate Wilson.

"Before we forget, a bit of tragedy struck right after your graduated high school," Reilly says and Simone groans.

"I thought we _weren't_ going that way."

"How else are you going to explain Mary Anne?"

"Does she really need anymore tragedy?"

"I'm just following Lawson's orders!"

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asks, her head spinning.

"Donald and Valerie Wilson, your beloved parents, were killed in a tragic accident," Reilly explains. "You're now living with your grandmother instead."

Spencer glances at the photo of her doppelganger in between two smiling parents and finds herself getting choked up for parents that aren't hers in a life she never had. "Why?"

"You're an orphan and an only child, Spencer. You can't do this alone," Simone explains and hands her a photo of an older woman. "This is Mary Anne McCormick. She's an ex-agent, retired a few years ago, and she's agreed to look after you while you're on your college breaks and such. She, unlike Valerie and Donald, actually exists and we've employed her to help on your behalf. She's fully aware of your situation and this entire case. You can trust her; she won't let you down."

Spencer sighs. "Okay."

"Speaking of college," Reilly adds. "You'll be attending the University of Maine at Augusta in the fall. We're giving you a grant to cover all your tuition, books, and room and board needs. We've already checked the background on all faculty members and on your roommate. You're safe there. We've gotten the green light."

Spencer merely nods. Simone smirks, "We know your academic history, Spencer, and we know you probably expected to go to an Ivy or at least a name Fortune 500 companies would recognize straightaway. Unfortunately, we can't risk it. There will be plenty of time for that in the future, but for now, you'll have to settle with what we give you."

She agrees. "Sure."

"I know that was a lot of information." Reilly tells her and motions towards Simone and the door. "We're going to give you a couple minutes to come to terms with your identity and your new life."

They stand and leave the room and she is honestly so overwhelmed, she doesn't know where to start. Not only did she gain new parents, but then she lost them almost immediately. Not only did she have a sweet, boy-next-door boyfriend, but then she lost him, too, instantly. She's going to school at a university she's never heard of, much less seen, and she's going to have not one FBI agent on her tail, but two. She wonders where the other girls are and if they are completely in over their heads here, too; she wonders if their new back-stories are as tragic as their _actual_ life stories and it's then that she realizes that there's no such thing as a happy family. It's a façade; everyone has secrets, everyone has tragedies, everyone has something to hide.

She can't look at these false family photos anymore and she shoves them aside. Instead, she reaches for the baby book, because she's one hundred percent sure her mother didn't keep one for her or Melissa and her curiosity's going through the roof right now. The inside cover is satiny smooth and holds her birth announcement; _Donald and Valerie Wilson are thrilled to announce the birth of their first child; a daughter named Katherine Anne Wilson born on May 5 1994 at 6:28 p.m. and weighing in at 7 lbs. 12 oz._ The next page is a deflated Mylar "It's a Girl!" balloon and a copy of her hand and footprints. She turns the pages, wide-eyed, and finds hair clippings from her first haircut, learns her first words were 'ma-ma' and 'no,' and that she broke her ankle falling off of a horse when she was seven. It's an entire childhood full of memories that she has to pretend happened, nearly an entire lifetime of things that never took place, and she's just completely in awe.

There's a knock on the door a moment later and a young man in a suit enters. He's probably in his mid-twenties if she had to guess and he's got strawberry blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. He smiles at her and offers his hand, introducing himself. "Spencer Hastings, right? I'm Agent Samuel Drasin. I'm going to be the one handling your case."

"You mean you're going to be the one watching me," Spencer corrects and Drasin smiles.

"If you want to call it that," He says. "Either way, we're going to be seeing a lot of each other."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "Lucky me."

Drasin states, "I know this is going to be a tough transition. And it doesn't help when you've got people like Lawson and Reilly breathing down your neck. But it really is going to be okay. Eventually, this will be like second nature to you, having me around all the time, and I hope we can be friends, in time. Because that's more of what I want to be- a friend. Not some creep with a badge who background checks all your acquaintances and listens to your phone conversations and goes through your Internet search history."

She can't help it; she cracks a smile. "You have to do that?"

"I wish I didn't, but it's part of the job," Drasin nods. "This isn't my first time, Spencer, but I know it's yours. And I want to make this easier on you."

"Have any of your Program participants ever been hurt?" She asks and he shakes his head.

"Not one," He assures her. "I take my job seriously. You're in good hands, I promise."

She nods slowly and asks, "So… now what?"

"Now," He tells her. "We're going to Maine."

Spencer wonders how, or why, really, they chose Augusta, Maine, of all places to stick her in. She would've expected some sort of giant city where she could get lost in the anonymity and the rush and all that, and no one would ever recognize her. And perhaps Augusta's like that, but she's always pictured it as being a state full of beautiful beaches, lighthouses and seafood restaurants boasting the best lobster in the country. In no time, they're boarding a plane and a familiar sense of dread and panic begin to well in her mind, because this doesn't feel right; none of this feels right. She's leaving behind the only place she's ever known as home for a completely different city in a completely different state. She's leaving behind her dreams of bricks and ivy for a college she's never heard of, and absentee parents for imaginary, deceased ones instead. She's leaving behind Spencer Hastings for Kate Wilson, a girl whose entire history she could rewrite, if she likes, and no one would ever know the difference. And when they touch down in Maine, the irony hits Spencer like a ton of bricks.

In order to escape the danger of her lies, she must now live one.

* * *

It's been a week now. No, technically it's been over a week; it's been a week, four days and a few hours. He can't count the minutes or he'll go insane. Well, he's halfway there already; he's lonely and he's distraught and he doesn't really know what to do with himself anymore. He misses her desperately and he has no way of contacting her; the worst part of it all is that he really has no one to commiserate with. Spencer's gone, but Emily and Hanna are too; he supposes he could talk to Caleb, but he hasn't seen him since they lost their girls at the police station, when they were both hurting so deeply and so openly, but trying to hide it from one another. So instead, he's suspended from work, he's got no one to talk to and he's got nowhere to be. He spends most of his time at home, in his loft, shutting out the world as if he's sixteen again. It's not glamorous, but it's all he's got.

Currently, he's still lying in bed and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He rolls over his side to reach for his laptop and places it on his stomach, illuminating the screen. It's a real estate website and he's almost forgotten this is what he'd been doing all last night. Once upon a time, he'd dreamed of leaving Rosewood the day he turned eighteen and could move out of his childhood home, away from his terrible family. Not long after, he started dating Spencer Hastings, and though even she couldn't make the monsters of Rosewood leave him alone, she at least made them bearable and he knew that when he did eventually leave this town, he wanted her by his side. He remembers her panic at his mention of leaving town and the relief in her eyes when he promised her he'd never leave her behind. But now… Well. She's left first. She's gone and he simply has no reason to stay.

Toby's browsing apartments in New York and balking at the prices when he catches a glimpse of the clock. 8:47- his disciplinary hearing is at 9. "Oh _shit_."

He's out of bed like someone's lit him on fire. Yanking on actual clothing and running his hand through his hair, Toby bolts for the bathroom and shoves his toothbrush in his mouth; Rosewood's a small town and he _should_ still get there on time, but it's going to be tight. He's taking the stairs to the loft two at a time and he trips on the last one and lands knee-first in a puddle. Great. So now he's not only unkempt and late, but it also looks like he's wet himself. The truck stalls a moment as he turns the key and his heart pounds; not now, not _ever_. He's already lost Spencer; he can't lose their truck, too. It takes its time but eventually, it comes back to life and then he's out of there. He reaches the police station, tries to calm his hair once more and then, with nerves abound, heads into the conference room.

The room is filled with FBI agents and Tanner's in the corner, her face unreadable. The agent who took the girls away is there, at the head of the table, and he nods in greeting. "Officer Cavanaugh. Please, sit."

He does as he's asked, sinking into the nearest empty chair. The agent clears his throat and says, "I'm Agent Lawson and we'll be reviewing your involvement on the force, but as we've met before, I think introductions are hardly necessary. Shall we continue?"

Toby nods slowly. "Yes, sir."

"Agent Bolton," Lawson then says. "If you could give me a rundown of Officer Cavanaugh's record, please."

"Sure," A blonde, bespectacled woman beside him answers. "There isn't much to report, sir. He's only just graduated from the academy and this was his first case. Before, it was just a few minor infractions that he handled."

"Officer Cavanaugh, what made you join the police force?" Lawson wants to know and for a moment, Toby can't find his voice.

Does he tell the truth? A beautiful, brilliant girl whom he loves desperately but ultimately fails to protect? He swallows and answers, "Well I… I knew the records of many of the officers Rosewood had and I… I wanted to maybe change that. I wanted to bring honesty back to the force."

Tanner scoffs from the corner of the room and Lawson glares at her, his head snapping in her direction. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Detective?"

"If Officer Cavanaugh would like to bring honesty back to the force, maybe he should start with being honest with himself," Tanner bites back. "He joined to get inside information for his eighteen-year-old girlfriend."

Toby's face grows hot with anger, but, knowing their company, he keeps it mostly in check. "I joined the force so I could protect her. I never told her anything; we were barely talking a while back, thanks to you."

He inhales a deep breath and adds, "The Rosewood police never seemed to have the girls' best interest in heart and things were escalating and they were being attacked… I didn't know what to do, but I was tired of seeing them so… Broken. So hopeless. So I guess… If you're wondering if I always wanted to be a cop, the answer is no. In fact, after my own experiences with the cops in this town, I wanted the exact opposite; I wanted to stay away from them for the rest of my life. But… I did what I did. I don't regret it."

His eyes meet Tanner's as he concludes, "You can't make me regret it."

"Toby," Bolton says and his eyes snap to hers instead, because it's the first time someone's used his first name. Her eyes are soft when she says, "What you've done is really admirable. The girls were very lucky to have someone like you in their lives."

Toby nods. "Thank you."

"I am not questioning your motives," Lawson then states, bringing them all back to the present. "Clearly, Detective Tanner's opinion means nothing to me, or we wouldn't have to investigate her entire force. What I am curious about, Cavanaugh, is where you stand now?"

He wonders, "On what?"

"The force," Lawson says as though it's obvious. "Your partner, Lorenzo Calderon, made it very clear that he wants nothing to do with this case or this town. Is this also how you feel?"

"Oh, I thought…" Toby shakes his head, still processing Lorenzo's leaving the town all together. "I guess I just thought I wouldn't be allowed to continue after my brief suspension. The situation got out of control; it wasn't supposed to go the way it did."

"I'm not interested in the suspension," Lawson shakes his head. "We already discussed it during Officer Calderon's hearing and, as usual, Detective Tanner was putting her eggs in the wrong basket. There are very few officers I'm willing to spare, here, and what we want to know is whether or not you care to be one of them."

Toby thinks for a moment about all of the nonsense he's dealt with since becoming a cop and, truthfully, if he's not doing this for Spencer anymore, then what reason does he have to continue doing something he isn't truly fond of anyway? Her words from their final night together come back to haunt him; _please don't try and help them capture him, please stay out of harm's way, please don't get hurt_. So maybe he'll give in just this once; he'll get out of Rosewood, go back to carpentry, leave police work to those more vindictive and cunning than himself. Tanner's glaring at him from the corner of the room, but he doesn't care anymore. He knows she never believed he had what it takes to become a cop and perhaps he doesn't, because if he has to be dishonest and corrupt like Garrett and Wilden, then he'll never be the type of police officer she wants.

"No," Toby finds himself saying. "No, I think I'm good."

Lawson nods. "Okay then. You're dismissed."

He thanks the agents for their time, stands and exits the office. On the way out, the entire department's been wiped out and it feels like a ghost town, like the beginning of a zombie apocalypse movie, and he passes by his old desk, by his name placard and the photo of him and Spencer framed by his jar of pens. He grabs them both and leaves everything else behind; nothing else matters. As a last thought, he drops his badge on top of the desk and stares at it, glinting in the low-watt, artificial lighting; _I've done a lot to get that_. He has; he'll never forget all the horrors and hardship he went through just for that shiny hunk of metal. But it's lost its appeal, now. He shakes his head and heads out of the department, feeling free, and he realizes he has no idea what he's going to do next.

Toby's halfway to his truck when he hears high heels on pavement and someone calling his name. "Officer Cavanaugh! Wait! Toby!"

He turns and Agent Bolton is in front of him in moments. "Did I forget something?"

"No, I did," She tells him. "Look… I can understand if you never want to step foot in that building again. The way Tanner ran things and the way some of your coworkers handled cases… It's the reason people think America's legal system is shit."

"Well, it kind of is," Toby agrees. "What's this about?"

"Lawson has so much on his plate; what with this investigation and relocating the girls and tracking down this sociopath," Bolton explains. "He's put me in charge of putting a team together to finally locate and capture this son of a bitch who's been stalking the girls for _years_."

Toby nods. "And?"

"And," She sighs. "Well I can understand if you don't want to continue your criminal justice career here in Rosewood; now that the girls are gone, what are you going to deal with? Parking tickets and petty theft? But… Your determination is commendable. And we could really use someone like you on the team."

He hesitates. "I don't know."

"I understand your hesitation," Bolton says. "But I can't think of anyone better to have than someone who knows what we're up against; someone who's seen firsthand what this son of a bitch is capable of."

Toby exhales a deep breath and says, "Look, Agent Bolton-"

"Lydia," She corrects him. "Please."

"Lydia, then," Toby says. "Thank you for your offer. But I really don't think I can dive headfirst into this disaster again."

"Why not?" She wonders curiously. "You've got nothing to lose. Pay's _great_ , you'd be getting out of Rosewood and we could finally get this psycho. Isn't that all you could ask for?"

And, in a perfect world, sure. If he can catch this supposed Charles DiLaurentis and succeed in bringing Spencer home, all while doing so from the comforts of literally _anywhere_ but Rosewood, then yeah, can he sign up twice? He thinks of the promise he made Spencer; _please don't try and help them capture him_. Surely, she'll understand, right? And then, the demons inside of him laugh, poke fun, because wherever she is, she'll never find out anyway. He still feels like he's betraying her in some way; one way or another, he always goes too far in trying to help and protect her. But, he remembers sardonically, there's no relationship to destroy, this time. This time, it's just her and she may be gone, she may be completely erased from this town, but she isn't erased from his memories. He's still in love with her; it's going to take years and years, it may take a lifetime, for that to fade away.

"Okay," Toby nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm in."

* * *

She dreams.

During the day, she's Kate Wilson. She plays the part and learns how sail and gets over her fear of dropping live lobster into a boiling pot of scalding water. Mary Anne, her brand new grandmother, teaches her all about Maine, walks her up and down beaches, takes her on tours of lighthouses and she's actually way cooler than either of her _actual_ grandmothers. She helps Spencer come to terms with who she is now, what this situation is going to be. In late August, she moves into her college dorm room and she meets her roommate and they swap childhood stories and Spencer balks at how easily the lies are rolling off her tongue. She picks her classes and loves her professors and learns all types of new things. She finds her favorite subject is psychology and she should be shocked, but after years of being psychologically tortured, she really isn't. She smiles a lot. She parties. She has a good time and everyone likes her. Everyone likes Kate.

But she dreams.

She dreams about the smell of The Brew and porcelain dolls and _Scared yet? You should be, bitch_. She dreams about blood and electric fences and _four chimes means it's game time_. Sometimes, her dreams are empty; just Spencer, in a giant white room, the walls bleeding with all the –A texts she's ever received. Sometimes, her dreams are in black and white and she wonders if that's her subconscious trying to remind her that she's not who she says she is, she's a mess, she's an addict, she's still suffering from that festering mental illness. She dreams about the feeling of earthworms in her hands and rainwater mixing with tears on her face and the sound of snapping twigs everywhere she turns. Sometimes the girls are there; sometimes she's alone. But he's there, too; he's always there. Scrabble and that old blue shirt and _you're not alone, not even for a second_. And then she wakes up and she always is.

She dreams every night and she never gets a reprieve and she's always reminded of who she is and what she left behind. Sometimes, she wakes up screaming and her roommate looks at her through her hazy fog of peaceful sleep as though Spencer's some kind of haunted monster. Sometimes, she wakes up bawling so hard she can't breathe and she has to slip on shoes, walk up and down the entire hallway of her dorm, until she can catch her breath again. She's told her roommate it's just residual pain; the trauma of losing her parents so soon, and the young, naïve girl nods her sympathetic understanding. Spencer remembers a time _she_ was the young, naïve girl. What she wouldn't give to go back to a time that simple.

Ironically, she no longer has a problem sleeping and she doesn't dread falling asleep at night. With her vivid, terrifying dreams, one might think she would. But she lives for them; she lives for the dreams because Kate Wilson, despite a few traumas, is more or less perfect and does not feel. Spencer Hastings is not, and all she _does_ is feel. It's pain, mostly; sadness, fear, dread, anxiety. But sometimes, her subconscious blesses her; sometimes, she dreams only of him. She dreams of his soothing, melodic voice, his comforting, protective arms, those big, beautiful blue eyes. It's like a drug, those dreams, and she can't get a large enough fix. So she goes about her day as Kate but she dreams as Spencer and sometimes, she'll wake screaming, sometimes she'll wake sobbing, and sometime it's a curious mix of both.

But she tolerates the nightmares in exchange for those precious dreams of him. It's all she has.

* * *

He can't stop jittering. He feels so out of place, so uncomfortable, but he's not going to mention that to her. It's clear she's invited him here out of concern and perhaps a little guilt and he's going to give her the benefit of the doubt. But still, he feels so _awkward_. Toby glances around, notes that in the month or so that Spencer's been gone, nothing looks any different in her childhood home. All the photos are still in the same place, all the furniture is still arranged the same way… It really is as though they've just carried on without her. He wonders for a moment what her bedroom looks like and then a dagger passes through his heart. He can't bear the thought of her mother emptying it, but contrastingly, Veronica keeping Spencer's things in all the same places her daughter left them is, somehow, all the more heartbreaking. A familiar scent greets his senses and a moment later, she returns to the living room and hands him a cup of coffee.

"You take yours with milk, right?" She asks sweetly, sitting in a chair before him and when he nods, she grins victoriously. "I knew I remembered correctly."

"Yeah, this is good, thank you," Toby nods and sips at the steaming mug. It's much weaker than the coffee Spencer used to make and for reasons he's stopped counting, this tugs at his heartstrings. "So… How are you, Mrs. Hastings?"

"Coping," She sighs. "As best I can. It's not the same; nothing is."

Toby nods. He knows the feeling. "Are you and Mr. Hastings on better terms? Spencer… She mentioned you guys weren't exactly seeing eye to eye, lately."

Veronica smiles, but it's almost rueful. "We've united again under the circumstances, but it's not what it was. I don't think it ever will be. But… Thank you, Toby. Thank you for asking."

He smiles, sips more coffee. "Sure."

"The reason I invited you over today is, honestly, to see how _you_ were doing," Veronica admits cautiously. "I just wanted to get a sense of where your head's at and… make sure you're okay."

Toby nearly chokes. "Me? I-I'm okay. As okay as I can be, I mean."

"Toby," Veronica says, placing her mug down on the coffee table in between them. "I just want you to know that… If you ever need anything, and I mean _anything_ , Peter and I will be here for you throughout this whole thing, however long it takes."

He tries to keep his jaw from dropping open. "You will?"

"Of course," She nods. "Look, I know how much you love her and I can never repay you for everything you've done for her. But I can at least try."

He shakes his head. "You don't have to. I didn't do anything special. I just-"

"But you did," Veronica disagrees. "You helped her through everything. And now, I want to help you."

He honestly doesn't know what to say. "Thank you."

"I'm not going to pretend I know everything about your home life. Truth is, I probably know nothing," Veronica says. "But Spencer had mentioned you don't get along with your father and I know you lost your mother a long time ago, so if you… If you _ever_ need anything, you come to me, understand?"

Toby finds himself smiling. "Sure. Yeah, thank you. I will."

Veronica smiles, too. "Okay. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm okay, thank you," He negates, glancing down at his mug.

"I know you're hurting," She adds, standing and retreating to the kitchen. "We all are, but we'll get through this together. After all, it's only a matter of time until they find him, right?"

Toby wishes he shared her optimism and for a moment, he remembers a time when he had. Honestly, he's beginning to believe Spencer's theory more and more; _You know how I feel about hope. It breeds eternal misery_. He's mildly reeling from Veronica's open door policy and then, it hits him. She'd been absentee; she'd missed out on many of Spencer's major milestones of adolescence and she hadn't been there when her daughter needed her the most. As a mother, she has one job and that's to protect her child and, in technical matters of the term, she's failed. Her child's been taken away; it's no wonder she suddenly wants to parent the first person she sees, but it's too little, too late. Toby sighs, finishes the coffee, and returns to the kitchen, offering to wash it. Veronica shakes her head, takes it from him and places it in the dishwasher. There's something in her eyes, but she's not as easy to read as Spencer. He doesn't know what she's feeling and frankly, he's afraid to find out.

"Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Hastings," Toby says politely and when she looks up at him, her eyes are almost red-rimmed.

"Oh honey," Veronica says. "You can call me Veronica."

He nods again and waves his goodbye and then he's out the door. It doesn't feel right to be here, sitting in her house, drinking coffee in Rosewood, without her. If he's being honest with himself, nothing feels right, anymore. The summer's beginning to wind down, but it's still hot as hell and he needs to get the air conditioning started in his truck unless he wants to suffocate on the ride home. On his way to the Hastings' driveway, he glances over at the abandoned DiLaurentis house and then does a double take, because it's not as abandoned as he once thought. Jason's sitting on the front porch, a bottle of beer in one hand, and a faraway look in his eyes and Toby should be surprised that Kenneth didn't take his son when he left town weeks ago, but he isn't. Nothing really surprises him, anymore.

For some reason, he finds himself walking up the sidewalk and soon, he's on the front porch too, but Jason hasn't so much as acknowledged him. "Jason…"

He takes a swig of beer and nods. "Toby."

"I can't believe you're still here," Toby blurts out and he isn't exactly sure why. "When your father left town, I just thought-"

"Let's stop pretending, now, alright?" Jason says. "We share the same last name, but he's not my father. Never has been, never wanted to be. Of course the real one doesn't want to be either, so for all intents and purposes, I'm fatherless, okay?"

"Okay," Toby says carefully. "I guess, I just thought that since the girls were gone now… I don't know."

"That I wouldn't be here anymore?"

Toby sighs. "Yeah."

"They took them away. Shipped them off to God knows where," Jason states. "And _no one_ told me. I never even got to say goodbye. And she's my sister."

Toby's about to ask when Jason clarifies, "They _both_ are."

Toby sinks onto the step beside him and nods. "Yeah. I know. It sucks."

"You at least got to say goodbye."

"That didn't make it any easier, believe me."

Jason frowns, finishes the bottle and chucks it at the lawn in front of him. "I yelled at her."

Toby asks, "You yelled at who?"

"Spencer," Jason admits painfully. "The last time I talked to her, I yelled at her. I wanted to talk to Charles and then you showed up and so did she and he freaked out and left and… I was _so_ angry. I was pissed; at you, at her, at myself. And I yelled at her. I don't even remember what I said, but I did. And now she's gone; she's off somewhere probably thinking I hate her and…"

"She doesn't think that," Toby assures him. "She's always been really fond of you; she always said you had some kind of connection."

"We did," Jason agrees. "Now she's gone."

Toby frowns, glances downward. "Yeah… Yeah, she is."

"Aw, hell," Jason shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Here I am bitching about my feelings… You were in love with her. You know."

Toby winces at his use of past tense and wonders if his feelings will ever follow in Jason's footsteps. He doesn't know why, but he finds himself asking, "Why _are_ you still here?"

Jason glances at him, meets his eyes. "Where else do I have to go?"

"I'm leaving Rosewood," Toby tells him even though he hasn't actually decided yet. "You can come with me."

Jason somehow looks at him, past him and through him at the same time. Then, he smiles. "Might actually take you up on that. Thanks, man."

Toby nods and stands, heading towards his truck. As an afterthought, Jason calls out, "Toby!"

He turns back. "Yeah?"

"You going to try and find them?"

Toby pauses but admits, "That's the plan."

"Then yeah," Jason agrees. "Count me in."


	4. Four

**Hello all! Wow, once again, can I say that I'm just utterly blown away and humbled and startled by your reviews? I freaking love all of you, like so, so much. I sincerely cannot thank you enough and I genuinely hope that you will still enjoy the road I'm taking this story on in the future. You can tell me if you don't. I appreciate feedback either way. It's the thing that really keeps me going, after all; your incredible, unrelenting support. Thank you, seriously. I cannot say that enough.  
**

 **That being said, since the show's doing a time jump, so am I. Like I said from the first chapter, this story goes AU from prom, but I am going to keep the timeline mostly canon. They're skipping five years, so am I. They're giving us the girls in their early twenties, so am I. However, they gave us a shitty ass excuse for an -A reveal and I'm hoping and praying you won't think mine is. Let's be real, you all already know who's going to be my trio of bad guys (as in, Red Coat, Black Veil, and -A). Think about it. Trust me, you know. I can guarantee you it's three separate people and none of them are Sara Harvey. Because that's stupid. Anyway, yeah. Think about it. You know more than you think you do. Read and review, maybe, and, hopefully, enjoy! Thank you again and see you next time!**

* * *

Four

Casco Bay is the town described in fairytales. The bustling piers of the famed Old Port in Portland are always humming with activity and the hustle of the big city combines with the quaintness of cobblestone charm in a way that shouldn't work, but somehow still does. Boats beat against docks and foghorns are always sounding into the picturesque mornings, with lighthouses keeping watch over the town, their giant, industrial beams cutting through the densest of nights. The beaches are full of soft white sand and salty blue seas and nearly everyone lives off of love and fish here; after all, fishing is the lifeblood of this quaint town. The houses are close enough to borrow cups of sugar from neighbors, but not so close that they might feel overburdened or on top of one another. It's literal perfection; it's like stepping outside and into a postcard. It's the hometown of Kate Wilson and thousands of others that don't know who she really is.

So much time passes that soon, it's been five years and she's somehow twenty-three. She graduates with honors and volunteers at soup kitchens and homeless shelters and interns at a local psychiatrist's office, as a grief counselor. She discovers she's actually a very talented sailor and sometimes, she goes out on boats with a few of the local fishermen and they bring back the infamous pounds of lobster and they always save her one. She has friends both inside and outside of work and sometimes, she even goes out on dates. What's craziest of all is that she's happy; she's actually legitimately happy and she never thought she could be, not after all that's happened, not without _him_. But she doesn't allow herself to think about it anymore; in the beginning, it's all she thought about and it drove her crazy. But now… Now, she doesn't dream as much, anymore, and she's beginning to wonder if someday, she'll forget forever. She's lost all hope of finding Charles. What scares her the most is that a teeny, tiny part of her doesn't want to at all.

She's used the last of the government grant and what she's been saving from her job on a small house overlooking the water. It's definitely no Hastings manor; it isn't even half the size of the house she's been living in with Mary Anne, her beloved pseudo-grandmother, but she feels like nothing but a burden to the older woman and she's got to get a start on her solo life, somehow. Currently, it's mid-October and the leaves are golden brown and beginning to fall off trees and there's a Halloween block party for the whole town at the rec center and apple orchards are offering hayrides and free apple cider. She's buttoned her pea coat all the way up and wrapped a scarf around her neck for good measure and she's currently leading Mary Anne up the cobblestone path to her big, beautiful blue house. A soft fall breeze tousles the rustling leaves and sends salty sea air skyward. Spencer's never been more in love with a location in her life.

"You're making me very nervous," Mary Anne says, her eyes closed, her hand clasped in her pseudo-granddaughter's. "I really wish I could just open my eyes already."

"We aren't quite there yet," Spencer says. "You have to get the full view."

They stop walking and Spencer grasps her shoulders, positions the older woman just right. "Okay… _Now!_ "

Mary Anne opens her eyes and a hand covers her mouth as she takes in the wraparound porch with the rocking chair, the beautiful bay window, the ocean view off the cliff side. "It really is beautiful."

"You like it?" Spencer wonders. "I pretty much fell in love with it the moment I saw it."

"I can't believe you're moving out," She shakes her head. "You know I can still provide for you. You don't have to do this."

"I want to," Spencer insists. "I've imposed on your life enough. I wanted you to get your house and your _life_ back. You can really start your retirement now, Nan."

"Oh, hush," Mary Anne waves her off. "You're still my responsibility until you're no longer Kate Wilson. And even then, whether you're Spencer or my little Katie bug, you're a part of my life now."

Spencer chuckles. "You really still want to stick to that nickname?"

"Come on, Katie bug!" Mary Anne winks. "It just seems like something a grandmother would call her granddaughter, don't you think?"

"Sure," Spencer chuckles and then she spots a familiar figure walking up her new driveway. She should've expected he'd be here, sooner or later. "Like my new digs?"

"Love them," Drasin comments, holding out a bottle and three glasses. "Brought you some champagne to celebrate."

She smirks. "You can drink on the job?"

"We just won't tell them," Drasin says and uncorks the bottle, pouring them each a glass. "To your brand new house- may it be easy to live in and impossible to penetrate."

"Heartwarming," Spencer jokes and drinks, the fizzy liquid tickling all the way down. "And I suppose you'd be liking one of these?"

She dangles a set of keys in front of his face and he chuckles. "Liking? More like needing. In fact, now would be a good time. I've got to check every nook and cranny of this place. I'm going to know it like the back of my hand."

"You'll know it better than me already," Spencer agrees. "But okay."

He snatches the extra key from her and grins. "You're going to be late."

Champagne sloshes out of the flute in her hand as she checks her watch. "Crap! I've gotta go!"

She shoves the glass in Drasin's outstretched hand, kisses Mary Anne's cheek and races down the street. At her retreating back, she hears Drasin chuckle, "Does that girl _ever_ stop moving?"

"Never," Mary Anne negates. "Have a good day, honey!"

Her car's in the shop; since she spent the remainder of her money on her new cozy bungalow, she had to settle for an old Sedan that could definitely use a lot of love. The walk to the office isn't that far from her house, anyway; it's most of the reason why she's picked it. Children in backpacks and toting lunch boxes are skipping to school and there's a foghorn blowing into the early morning. Spencer takes a slight right turn and heads in the direction of the docks; it's the best shortcut. As she's weaving in and out of incoming shipments of fish, a scent she used to detest but now kind of loves, many of the fishermen call out to her and wave. She's made so many new friends over the past five years, she can barely keep up with herself. She doesn't know what it's like to have so many people love her, after all.

"Kate!" A familiar voice calls and Spencer halts her steps, turning in the direction of the voice. "Are we still on for Saturday?"

It's Dean, one of her favorite sailor buddies, but she's completely blanking on what she promised him. "Saturday… Right. Remind me what we agreed on?"

"Saturday? Cape Elizabeth? Getting enough lobster for rolls for the block party?" Dean reminds her. "Kelly's still not quite herself."

"Cape Elizabeth!" Spencer shouts. "Right! Right, yeah, I'll totally be there."

"You will?" Dean teases. "You won't forget? I can try and see if Kelly can get someone to watch the kids, but the baby's barely-"

"No, no, no, Dean, no," Spencer insists. "You can count on me, you know that. It just momentarily slipped my mind, but we're good."

He smirks. "You work too much, kid."

"Yeah, I could say the same to you," She grins. "Is Kelly doing okay, though? She's been out of it for a while."

His smile falters. "I don't know. She seemed okay right up until Oliver was born and now it's like… She's so down, all the time. She forgets things, she doesn't have energy… We're all noticing it."

"If she ever wants to talk," Her hand slips into her purse and produces a business card. "That's what we're there for, you know."

Dean takes it and nods. "Thanks. You're really great. Thank you."

She nods. "So, Saturday, then? I'll be there. I'll bring something for the kids."

"They'll love that," Dean grins. "Can't get enough of their Auntie Kate!"

She waves goodbye and it's been five years and she still feels like a phony. Regardless, she presses on, towards the office, and when she arrives, there's time enough to spare for her to relax just a little. She makes it to her desk and there's a blueberry muffin and a coffee waiting for her, a note accompanying them. Spencer unfolds it and reads, ' _Thanks for a great night. I had fun! – D_. She inwardly shudders; not at the note, not at the one who's sent it, but at the single letter that he'd signed it with. It brings back memories she thought she was okay with and is only now realizing she's never really healed. She crushes the note in between her palms and it ends up in the trash beside her. The coffee's cold and not strong enough and the muffin is sticky, but it's the thought that counts. Her first client's in at ten and a little before nine-thirty, her two best friends appear at her side.

"Newsflash," Lauren starts. "Dr. Cohen is _super_ pissed this morning. I don't know what his deal is, but we all best keep our distance before he blows his top."

"We do all the work around here anyway," Cara frowns. "What does he do? Prescribe them medication? We're the ones listening to their every issue and trying to keep from jabbing this pen in our eyes."

"Easy, tiger," Spencer chuckles. "It's just an internship. We'll get real jobs and be out of his hair in no time."

"Ugh, Kate, please just let me be Negative Nancy for once," Cara sighs and then, Lauren lights up.

"Oh my god, you didn't text me last night," She exclaims. "How was your date with Daniel Handsome?"

"It's Hanson," Spencer rolls her eyes. "I swear, you're like a giddy teenager, sometimes."

"She's right," Cara agrees and Lauren sighs.

"Well I'm sorry _my_ love life is nonexistent and I have to live vicariously through both of you," Lauren replies. "And you didn't answer my question."

Spencer shrugs. "It was nice."

" _Nice?_ That's all I get?"

"It wasn't anything special," Spencer admits. "We went for dinner at that new restaurant on 5th. We got pasta. The end."

"Come on, Lauren," Cara jokes. "You know Kate doesn't kiss and tell."

"I don't," Spencer agrees. "But we didn't even kiss, so there's _really_ nothing to tell."

They chuckle and a door slams open down the hall. Their psychiatrist, Dr. Cohen, bellows angrily, "If you three are done acting like silly schoolgirls, our first client is here."

Spencer jumps up. "I've got it."

She greets the young woman and leads her into the back room. There's a sofa, a chaise, a coffee table with magazines and a box of tissues. Spencer offers her a seat and finds herself sitting in front of the woman. She's petite, brunette, and has big brown eyes that are swimming in tears, but she doesn't speak, not at first. When she does, a tragedy spills out of her. "My husband's dying."

The woman is no older than Spencer herself and she can't _imagine_ being married already, let alone losing him, but she can't show her surprise. Instead, she nods, and offers, "I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk this through?"

"We have a two-year-old. I'm twelve weeks pregnant. We…" She rambles. "I shouldn't be upset about this. I should think about our kids and what… what he's _done_."

At this, Spencer's confused. "This is a safe space. Everything you tell me will remain confidential unless I think the information is a danger to you or someone you love."

"It's not. It's…" She sighs. "He's been cheating. He got into a bar fight over his girlfriend and that's why he's dying. He's bleeding into his brain and… Now everyone's turning to me to make the final decision. You know, whether or not to take him off life support."

Spencer nods. It makes a bit more sense, now. "Has he showed signs of improvement?"

"No," She shakes her head. "He hasn't gotten better, but he hasn't gotten worse. He's frozen. And so am I. What do I do?"

And so Spencer listens and offers advice and tells this poor woman it's not her fault. Sometimes tragedy strikes and instead of tearing down, it only makes one stronger.

This is, of course, why Spencer is a grief counselor, after all. If she focuses on others' pain, it distracts her from her own.

* * *

" _Surprise!_ "

It certainly is. Toby balks, "What the hell is this?"

"It's your surprise party, man!" Jason announces, stepping closer and clapping him on the back.

"My birthday's in March," Toby frowns. "It's October."

"It's not a birthday party!" Jason shakes his head.

"Dude," Their neighbor from down the hall shouts. "Congratulations!"

"On what?" Toby asks, confusion lacing his tone as Jason hands him a beer.

"On making fucking detective, that's what," Jason shakes his head, addressing the crowd when he says, "He's just being modest."

Their apartment is dark and loud and full of super drunken people- his least favorite kind of people. It's been five years since they left Rosewood and mostly, his personality hasn't changed. He still doesn't love parties; he still gets anxious and uncomfortable in these awkward social settings. There's a thumping bass that's legitimately vibrating their thin walls and just when he thinks their next door neighbors, a kind, mild-mannered older couple, are going to throw an absolute fit, he finds them, sampling chips and salsa in the corner of the room. Toby's pretty sure Jason's invited their entire building and he loves his roommate; truthfully, he does. He's the only one- save for Caleb, but he doesn't see him much, these days- who understands his situation, but the guy's pushing thirty and he still parties almost nightly like he's in college again. Toby's twenty-four and he's never partied a day in his life- not even when Jason's forced him to.

They moved to Philadelphia within a week or so of Toby accepting Agent Lydia Bolton's offer to join her search and rescue team for Charles DiLaurentis. Somehow, they found a cheap apartment in the city and easily furnished it to the best of their ability without going completely broke. Jason's been working daily with the Center for Missing and Exploited Children, traveling from city to city and giving motivational speeches, holding fundraisers and pleading with Charles, wherever he is, to just give in and come home. Toby, however, is taking a much more realistic approach. His efforts have since promoted him to detective, but he really doesn't feel like celebrating. He's exhausting himself; he just wants to climb into bed and fall asleep to whatever guilty pleasure is always taking up his television. And he's happy, actually; he really is. He's grown to love his job and the people he works with are really welcoming and genuinely nice to him and no one in Philadelphia knows who the hell Toby Cavanaugh is which is, in a word, refreshing. They don't know that he was his hometown's pariah and they don't care. So, neither does he. Not anymore.

He pops the top on his beer and takes a sip. It's not his favorite; he's never really been a drinker, but he supposes it's a special occasion, so he plays along. Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he's spotted Caleb and after a double take that nearly snaps his neck, he realizes he has. Caleb's grinning and they hug quickly, clapping each other on the back. Toby's still in shock. "I can't believe you're here, man. What's going on?"

"Jason invited me," He chuckles. "Said we were celebrating some big accomplishment, but he didn't tell me you made detective. Congrats. That's huge."

"Thanks," Toby shrugs. "It's alright, I guess. That's not really why I'm still in it."

Caleb nods. "Yeah. I get that."

A moment of silence passes and he realizes they're both just as empty as they were five years ago. He knows Caleb did all he could for Hanna and so he's not surprised to find him just as lost. He doesn't bring this up; instead, he asks, "Are you staying for a while?"

"Probably just the weekend," Caleb says. "I've got to be back in the office by Monday. Crazy, isn't it, that we all have real lives to attend to now?"

"Yeah," Toby chuckles. "Crazy doesn't even begin to cover it."

Caleb lowers his voice, asking, "Any news yet?"

Toby frowns. "Nothing. We were in Dallas last week. I traced that son of a bitch all the way to Galveston and you know what I found? What was waiting for me?"

Caleb sighs. "Nothing?"

"Worse," Toby shakes his head. "A bag of ice."

"Ah," Caleb nods. "You're getting colder."

"Yup," He says. "Mona left us a similar thing years ago, when she was still calling the shots and when Spencer and I were barely…"

He trails off. It hasn't gotten any easier to talk about her. Caleb seems to understand. "It's okay. I try not to talk about Hanna, either."

Silence ensues and soon, it nearly stifles them. Toby asks, "How did we let it get this way?"

"We didn't have much of a choice," Caleb replies. "But hey, they're still out there, somewhere."

"You think they're okay?"

"Sure, why wouldn't they be?" Caleb shrugs. "I mean they're in the Program; they're not in any danger."

"It's not that," Toby shakes his head and this, he's never talked about with Jason. Jason doesn't quite understand, but he knows Caleb does. "I know how I still feel and I've got a pretty good feeling I know where you stand, too. But do you think they…?"

"Are what? Over it? Over _us?_ " Caleb sighs and Toby nods. "I torture myself with that thought all the time. You're not alone."

"It's just that they've all been through _so_ much shit," Toby sighs. "And if they got through _half_ of that, then…"

"Then this is nothing," Caleb finishes. "I know."

"It's okay," Toby decides after a beat. "If Spencer's over it, you know. I really just want her to be safe and happy. That's all I've ever wanted."

Caleb nods. "Preaching to the choir, man."

The party doesn't start to dwindle down until after three a.m. and the sun's starting to come up when the last guest leaves and Jason starts to clean up after himself. Toby helps even though fatigue is pulling at his limbs and Caleb's crashed on their couch hours ago. They're stuffing Solo cups into trash bags and tossing bowls into their sink and Toby realizes they're kind of living the college dream he never had; throwing raging parties until the wee hours of the morning. Jason has apparently given up completely on sleep; when he's finished cleaning, he takes out the trash and then returns and starts pouring cereal and milk into a bowl, Toby shaking his head at his friend's actions. Jason DiLaurentis is a puzzling individual. He expects nothing less from a member of that family.

"You want me to bring you back anything?"

Toby's barely awake and he's barely heard him. "From what?"

"Massachusetts," Jason answers, dipping the spoon back into his bowl. "I'm leaving tomorrow for that conference and fundraiser. It's at the Westin Waterfront."

"I'm good," Toby yawns and sinks into an armchair. Caleb stirs slightly before him.

"Did you see Lydia showed up last night?" Jason asks. "I think she likes you."

Toby rolls his eyes. "I _know_ she likes me. I'm not in middle school anymore."

"It's okay, you know," Jason tells him. "I know I'm her older brother, but I won't beat you up if you want to date other people. It's been five years. It's okay to move on."

Toby's silent a moment before saying, "I don't like her like that. And we work together; that's a terrible idea, anyway. Never mix business with pleasure."

Jason nods sympathetically. "You're still in love with her."

Toby sighs exhaustedly. "Can't imagine a day when I'm not."

He stands, trudges off to his bedroom and says, "I hope he's out there somewhere, watching you, and I hope he's convinced by your speech at this stupid conference. Better yet, I hope he shows up to the fundraiser. Because we're out of ideas, Jason. We're running out of leads. It's been five years and I'm _so_ tired of this."

"You don't have to do this, Toby," Jason calls after him. "You can give up at any time."

Toby shakes his head, sinking into his bed. "No. No, I can't."

* * *

At the end of the day, Dr. Cohen announces he's attending a psychological health seminar in Boston next weekend and he invites his interns to join him, to learn a few things, and that familiar race of excitement gets Spencer's adrenaline pumping. She loves traveling; always has. It gets her blood flowing, her mind racing, her wanderlust satiated and allows her to feel something brand new. She's not so good at the feelings, these days; she supposes she never really was in the first place. The one person who had actually gotten her to confront them had been taken from her and tries not to remember this tiny detail anymore. Instead, she returns home with pep in her step, inhales that brand new house smell and smiles complacently. It might be empty, it might need Spencer Hastings' interior design expertise, but she's got all the time in the world. She whips up some pasta and retreats to her back porch, sinking into a chair and watching the deep cerulean waves crash against the shore. It's chilly and it certainly isn't beach weather, but it's home. And she's glad it is.

Like clockwork, she hears a familiar car horn beep and then footsteps on her porch. Drasin checks in on her twice a day; she's used to him by now. He takes a seat beside her and she greets him amicably. "You want some dinner? There's pasta on the stove."

"Tempting, but I ate already," He tells her.

She smirks. "Did you microwave a burrito again? I told you, those things are pumped with sodium and artificial flavors and are so not good for you."

"And I told _you_ ," Drasin counters. "You know way too much useless information and I'm going to eat it anyway."

Spencer rolls her eyes and watches the deep blue sky melt into the sea, turn into an arcane purple and then an omniscient black. "This is my favorite spot in the entire town. I love the view."

"Yeah, it's nice," He nods.

"Nice? It's where the ocean is the bluest," Spencer sighs dreamily. "I could stare at it forever."

"You like blue? Really? You?" Drasin teases. "You don't say."

She grows a bit defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your car? Your house? The ocean?" Drasin points out. "And last week, when you were supposed to be studying but you were too busy staring at the sky? Not to mention you know the most synonyms for the word 'blue' out of anyone I've ever known in my life."

Spencer colors a bit. "It's my favorite color."

"Kate's favorite color?" He wonders. "Or Spencer's?"

"Both," Spencer sighs. "We're not that different, me and Kate."

Drasin chuckles, going to stand. "If anyone heard you say that, they might think you have some kind of multiple personality disorder."

Spencer smiles wistfully. "I'm beginning to wonder if I do."

Just as he's about to go, she remembers, "Oh, before I forget, I'm going to Boston next weekend. Are you going to have to follow me?"

"No," He shakes his head. "I'll still be on call, 24-7, but we've got agents out there. Just forward me your itinerary, okay? I'll make sure you're covered."

"Thank you," She says gratefully. "And not just for this, but for getting me here. Not giving up on me. Making sure I'm always safe."

"That's my job, Spencer," Drasin tells her. "I told you- I take it seriously."

"And thanks for that, too."

He grins and bids her farewell. "Goodnight. I'll be down the street, if you need me. Just call."

"Will do."

After a few more longing moments, Spencer stands and heads for the sliding glass door. But for a moment, her hand lingers on the soft paneling of bungalow. It's a beautiful blue, but now she almost feels subconscious. It's true, she's nearly doused her life in the color, but she's never quite noticed how present it is in her daily life.

Perhaps it's some sort of motif, she thinks ruefully, and then heads down the hall for bed.


	5. Five

**Hi friends! Thank you so, so much for your kind words on the last chapter! As usual I was completely blown away by your response. I'm glad you didn't mind the fact that I took massive creative liberties with this whole time jump thing. I'm sorry, (I'm actually not, to be honest), but I don't trust the writers of this show at all anymore, so I had to write my own time jump because I'm 99.99999% sure theirs is going to be crap. I guess we'll find out in January if my suspicions will be confirmed.  
**

 **Many of you picked up on the fact that Jason and Spencer are on a crash course for confrontation, so we all have that to look forward to today haha. Otherwise, all's well that ends well, right? Lol. Sorry. I'm in a really weird mood today. I hope you enjoy what I have in store for you with this one and regardless of whether you do or don't, you can always let me know. Thanks as always for reading and I'll see you next time!**

* * *

Five

His plane leaves in a little over an hour and he can't find his car keys. He needs to be at the airport and through security by now, not blindly tearing the apartment apart, throwing things around the room aimlessly as he tries and ultimately fails in locating them. This can't be happening to him; not now. He's the lead speaker at this conference and if he misses this plane, he'll most likely lose his job. The car keys are literally nowhere to be found; Jason gives up, throws in the towel, and then frowns. Toby can take him to the airport, most likely, but it's barely six a.m. and he's still passed out. He's been working long, God-awful hours lately and Jason's pretty sure he didn't get home until long after midnight the night before. Still, his missing keys leave him no choice. He sighs and heads down the hallway, feeling like a failure.

Quietly, he pushes open the door and enters Toby's bedroom and they've been living together for five years, but Jason's rarely ever been inside his bedroom. He supposes he doesn't truly have a need to be. The first thing he notices is his slumbering roommate; Toby's facedown on the bed, completely dead to the world, still clothed in his police uniform as though he'd fallen into a deep sleep last night the second he hit the mattress. He smirks; they've both been working so hard for so long that, when this is all over, they're both due for a serious vacation. There's a framed photograph of Toby and Spencer on the bedside table beside him and it tugs at Jason's heartstrings every time he sees it. Those kids had nothing but heartache and yet, somehow, they look so incredibly _happy_ ; the grins on each of their faces are a mile wide and Jason doesn't really understand. But then, something else catches his eye. There's something glistening in the sunlight on top of his dresser and Jason recognizes it as the pocket watch Toby's always carrying, popping the top, losing his mind at what's on the inside. Curiosity gets the better of him; surely, it isn't just a clock, not if Toby's heart wrenching expression proves otherwise. Carefully, he opens the top and his hands still; _you are my once upon a time – S._ It all makes sense, now.

"What are you doing?"

Jason whirls around, bangs his knee against a dresser drawer that's gone awry. "I, uh… I couldn't find my car keys and I'm late."

Toby's looking at him, bleary-eyed, still half asleep. "And you thought they were in here?"

"No, I…" He's been caught red-handed. He doesn't know what to say. "I just thought-"

Toby yawns and nods towards the door. "Just take mine. Keys are on the kitchen table."

"You sure?"

"I'm off, for once," Toby mumbles, lying down again. "I'll find your keys and switch our cars out later."

"Thanks," Jason nods and he places the watch back where he's found it, but he's pretty sure Toby's passed out again.

Halfway out the door, he finds his car keys, on the floor next to the vacuum cleaner. He doesn't remember leaving them there, but he places Toby's keys where he first found them and heads for his car. He ends up making his flight perfectly on time; he's even got a few minutes to spare to grab a cup of coffee. But he can't get Spencer's words out of his head; _you are my once upon a time_. He knows Toby puts on a complacent front, but Jason knows he'd be a lot happier if this whole thing was behind them. He's doing what he can; he's been working days and nights alike to bring this son of a bitch to justice, but it isn't enough.

And if there's one thing Jason understands, it's the feeling of never being _enough_.

* * *

It turns out, this seminar that the American Psychological Association is holding is actually very long and very boring. Dr. Cohen sends them wake-up calls at the crack of dawn and then she, Cara and Lauren sit through hour-long workshops detailing different types of techniques to use when helping clients through different types of grief and trauma. Dr. Cohen is listening intently, nodding along with some of the finer points and jotting down notes in his composition book. Cara is doodling on a piece of loose leaf and Lauren is nodding off, but Spencer's sitting stiff, being thrown back into memories she'd thought wouldn't bother her anymore. Visions of blood and the rush of a bullet and that familiar feeling of being watched come back to haunt her; she thinks of the dollhouse and of witnessing one too many murders and Dr. Sullivan's nonjudgmental, sympathetic words. It's enough to spark that familiar feeling of nausea and dread and when they're given an hour for lunch, she's out of the hotel before she can blink.

Cara and Lauren are on her heels and they stroll purposefully through the streets of Boston, looking for a place to have lunch. Boston is easily one of the most beautiful cities she's ever visited and she can't remember if she's ever been here before. It's full of people and it's bustling with anonymity and people get angry over the dumbest things, but they're over it in two seconds. Spencer doesn't know what that's like; she's used to boiling hatred, to burgeoning pits of anger, to lifelong grudges being held over someone as though the tiniest things could set them off. In another life, Spencer thinks as they choose a café right outside the T, she could make a life here; set up a cozy apartment, visit summer festivals and concerts, and live out her days in a big city that still, somehow, has all the cozy comforts of a small town. Then, she finds herself laughing; another life? Right. As if she needs _another_ one of those.

She's sipping a glass of lemonade and eating the best bowl of chicken Caesar salad she's ever had. It's a beautiful, crisp fall day and she wishes she were here on vacation instead of on a, so-called "business trip." Lauren's complaining about the seminars they've attended thus far and Cara chuckles, saying, "How would you even know? You were sleeping through the entire thing."

"I was _not_ ," Lauren disagrees. "Just through the piece on cyber bullying and socio-psychological torture. I mean, that has been preached and preached since we were in middle school, and I'm not saying it's not important, but to be completely honest, there's next to nothing we can do about it."

"There's always something we can do," Spencer disagrees. "If adults took more of a stand, children wouldn't feel so alone. If they knew they were going to protected, they'd feel more comfortable talking about it."

"Okay, you have my attention, Dr. Wilson," Lauren chuckles and Spencer frowns.

"I'm serious."

"Leave her alone, Laur," Cara insists. "She's the only one who was actually listening to that part, anyway."

"It's important," Spencer defends. "The treatment we give both the bullies and the bullied. The former needs to have a safe space to spill their feelings so they don't hurt themselves or others, and the latter needs someone to talk to in order to express the reasons they're doing what they're doing. It all comes from not being heard; the bully and the bullied have more in common than they think."

"Kate," Cara says. "You could write a book."

"Seriously," Lauren agrees. "I never knew you felt so strongly about the subject. Everyone loved you, growing up; were you ever even bullied?"

"No," Spencer says uneasily. "No, I just… It's important that it never gets overlooked."

They nod obediently and she's just strayed so far from the happy-go-lucky, carefree demeanor she's decided Kate Wilson will always portray, she's sure her friends are wondering where this determined, ruthless nature has come from. She knows; it's her inner self, the _Spencer Hastings_ , she tries so desperately and fails so miserably to quiet. And for a moment, as her friends go back to eating and discussing the differences between Boston's harbor and Casco Bay's, Spencer grows nostalgic for her old life, her _real_ life, the one she'd left behind. She misses her bedroom and classes at Rosewood High and the pink lemonade at the Apple Rose Grille. She misses how the baristas at The Brew always got her order exactly right and she misses the Founder's Festival and fireworks over the town on the Fourth of July. She misses Aria and Emily and Hanna; she even finds herself missing Alison, sometimes. And she misses Toby; dear God, she misses Toby. Of all the things she misses, he's always been number one. And every now and then, she allows herself to think of these things, she allows herself a moment of sadness, and then she goes on, but she never allows herself to think of Toby. She knows that kind of sadness, that guttural, life-ruining despair, will ultimately destroy her.

Instead, she pastes on a smile and rejoins the conversation. "What did I miss out on? I was zoning."

"Yeah, _really_ hard," Cara chuckles. "We thought we lost you."

"We were talking about Matt Ross and how I think he's total marriage material and Cara's disgusted," Lauren says. "I need your opinion."

Spencer bites her lip. "Remind me who that is again?"

"The mailman who always brings Dr. Cohen his packages personally," Cara says. "He's at least forty and his hairline is already receding."

"He's thirty-seven," Lauren corrects, glaring at her. "And bringing Cohen's packages to his office door? Like how considerate is that? He'd totally be the kind of guy to not only buy the tampons, but throw in a package of cupcakes, too."

"You've officially lost it," Spencer shakes her head and Cara giggles.

"I'm with Kate on this one," She says. "You need to drop it. You need to get laid. Seriously, how long has it been? There's probably cobwebs growing down there."

"I didn't ask you for your opinion on _me_ ," Lauren waves her off. "I was asking about _him_. Kate, you never want to contribute to the conversation, you know."

"What do you mean?" Spencer wonders and Lauren rolls her eyes.

"On guys," She clarifies. "We talk about them all the time-"

"Maybe a little _too_ much," Cara teases and Lauren studiously ignores her.

"- and you never give your input."

"Well, it's not that weird," Cara points out. "She's got a boyfriend."

"I wouldn't call Danny my boyfriend," Spencer says, her heart racing. "He still calls himself 'Danny' like we're in grade school, or something. And besides, we've been on _two_ dates. It's nothing."

"He really likes you, though," Lauren says. "And he's _so_ cute. And he's rich."

Spencer rolls her eyes. "He's not rich. His parents are rich."

"You know what? That's something only rich people say."

"She's got a point, Kate."

"Whatever, you guys are so…" She trails off as she just happens to glance across the street and that odd sensation comes over her again. It's one she hasn't felt in _years_ ; the feeling of being watched. She isn't; she can't be. Across the street, there's a hair salon, a coffee shop and a bank and people are bustling in between the three and in and out of them and not paying a damn bit of attention to her. She's probably just being paranoid. There's nothing there; there's _no_ _one_ there, she's sure of it, and everything's all right. But she still can't shake the feeling, can't help that odd, uncomfortable sensation coming over her, so she whirls around again, scanning the street in all directions, ready to rip this invisible person's head off. She isn't being watched, she knows, logically, she's not… Until she is. Across the street, just outside the entrance of the coffee shop, is a tall blonde man, face covered in scruff, a paper cup of coffee frozen halfway to his lips. She begins to boil with anger and her friends take notice.

"Earth to Kate?" Cara calls. "Damn. We've got to start chaining your mind to the ground."

"Someone's watching me," Spencer blurts out and she's not sure if she should've told them, but both their eyes snap across the street.

"Ew," Cara's nose scrunches. "Who? Where?"

"That blonde guy over there, with the coffee," Spencer points out, nodding her head in his direction.

"Yeah, I see him," Lauren shakes her head and then considers him a moment, adding, "He's actually kind of cute."

"Hey, Laur, can you keep it in your pants for like five seconds?" Cara asks. "Kate might have a potential stalker, here."

"You're right; priorities," Lauren says, snapping out of it. "Go over there."

Spencer's eyes widen. "You think I should?"

"Hell yes," Cara agrees. "Go over there and give him a piece of your mind. Women are not pieces of meat. He doesn't even know you; he can't just stare and drool as he pleases."

"You know what? You're right. This is ridiculous," Spencer stands and adds, "I'll be right back."

She crosses the street and has barely approached him before she's shouting. "Hi! Excuse me. I'm an actual human being and not a mannequin that you can stare at all day, at your leisure. My friends and I are just trying to have lunch and so if you would please just…"

Spencer doesn't recognize him. Not at all; not one tiny bit. But he recognizes her. The coffee cup goes careening to the ground and hot steaming liquid spills all over the pavement. His eyes widen and his mouth parts slightly to exclaim, "Oh my god."

And it's the voice that gets her and immediately, her expression matches his. "Jason?"

* * *

It's like her brain is filled with a sudden white noise ("hot ice cubes," as Hanna might call it, and her heart aches) and everything around them fades away. He still hasn't said a single word after his shocked expression and she's standing there staring at him as though he's the last person on Earth she'd ever think of seeing. Truthfully, he pretty much is. She doesn't know what to do. It's been five years since she's seen him; no, longer. She never got to say goodbye. So, ignoring all rational thought, logic and reason, she grabs his arm, tugs him down the street and into an alleyway. It isn't the brightest idea she's had, but she's done dumber things. He follows blindly; he's still completely speechless. She certainly knows the feeling.

After a beat, Jason asks, "What are you doing?"

"I can't risk being seen with you," Spencer says in a hushed whisper. "If they see me talking to you…"

"Who's 'they'?"

"The FBI," She replies. "They're everywhere, even when you think they're not. It comes with the territory."

Jason nods his understanding and they spend the next minute or so just simply staring at each other. She finds her voice first. "What are you doing here?"

He smirks. "Seriously? Five years, Spence, and that's what you have to say to me?"

She glances downward. "Did you try to find me?"

"No," Jason shakes his head. "We're trying to find him. It isn't going well."

"And that's why you're here?"

"I'm with the Center for Missing and Exploited Children," He explains. "I have been since this whole thing went down five years ago."

She scoffs. "Unbelievable. So you're still trying to reach out to him as if he's you're long lost brother and he'll be able to come home for family reunions. Newsflash, Jason- he's a sociopath. He's a murderer. Your mother is dead, your sister is gone and he's _not_ all you have left. He's trash who made all of our lives a living _hell_ for years and-"

"Spencer, I _know_ ," He cuts her off angrily. "I'm not doing this for him. I'm doing this for _you._ You, Ali, all the girls. I know you're not missing; you're not children anymore. But I still can't bring you home. And it kills me. But since I've been involved with the Center, we've brought seven missing kids home to their families. One of the little girls had been missing for eight _years_ and we got her back. It's not enough, I know, but… I have to do _something_. I didn't help you guys when you needed it so… I'm helping someone else."

Spencer sighs; she certainly knows what it's like to displace her own feelings onto something else. She remembers what she'd said to Jason years ago, just after finding out they shared half their DNA; _we're wired the same_. She supposes it's still true. "That's good, Jason. That's really good."

He nods. "So you live here now? In Boston?"

"No," She negates. "But I can't tell you where I really live. You know that."

"I'm sorry," He replies. "It was stupid of me to ask."

She's curious; she asks, "How are things back home?"

"I don't know," Jason shrugs. "I'm not in Rosewood anymore."

Her face brightens a little. "You finally left? For good?"

"Yeah," Jason nods. "Moved to Philly. It's better there."

"I'll bet."

He hesitates a moment and then asks, "How are you?"

It's a loaded question; she's happy and she's not. She's upset and despaired, still, but she's not. She could tell him every single awful feeling she's been plagued with, or she could continue to perpetuate the lie she's being forced to tell. She inhales a deep breath and what comes out of her isn't what she expects; ventriloquism at its finest. "Existing."

"Has it been tough?"

She can't help herself; she laughs. Sarcasm spills from her like a tapped oilrig and she's missed this, honestly. Kate is so _pure_. "No, are you kidding? Uprooting my entire life? Starting a brand new one with a shiny new identity? Changing my signature and my driver's license and getting used to being called Kate? Getting taken away from my entire family and all my friends and anyone who's ever known or cared about me? Jason, it was a damn _picnic_. Best experience of my life."

He rolls his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"That's how it came out."

"You haven't acted on it?" Jason clarifies and Spencer's heart races just a tad. She gets it, now. She knows to what he is referring. "We're the same, you and I, and I know that when shit gets rough for me, I'm basically at the merciless hands of the bottle. I was just wondering if you-"

"No," She cuts him off, a shake of her head. "No, I haven't. Believe me, the impulse is there, but I… I never gave in. I won't."

Truthfully, she can't think of pot or pills without getting nauseous over Dean's erratic behavior, so perhaps she has him to thank, after all. Jason nods. "Well that's good. I'm glad you're finding ways to deal with it."

Again, she scoffs. "Do I have much of a choice?"

"We never have a choice," Jason shakes his head. "You and me, especially."

"What do you mean?"

"We're the reject kids, Spencer," Jason sighs. "Melissa can do no wrong and Alison's the one my parents fawned over. Where does that leave us?"

"Forget us," She disagrees. "At least we didn't plan years and years of psychological warfare that left a trail of dead bodies in our wake. _Charles_ is the real reject kid, if he's even your brother at all."

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

"And now we're all left to sift through the mess he left behind," Spencer says. "It's such a DiLaurentis thing to do, I'm starting to believe he's real."

A soft breeze filters through the air and a car beeps and she really has spent too much time with him. She starts, "I've got to go."

"Right," Jason says. "Yeah, we should both go."

She laments, "I can't give you my number. I can't even give you my address. No one can know we met."

He nods slowly, almost painfully. "I know."

Jason steps a bit closer and his arms come around her and, for a moment, she's paralyzed in shock. She hugs him back and she's pretty sure she's never hugged him before in her life. He states, "We're going to fix this. We'll find him and we'll get you home, somehow."

She sighs as they pull away. "Whatever you say."

Spencer begins to amble towards the mouth of the alley when Jason calls, "You look great, you know. I'm surprised; I was expecting… I don't know."

She turns back. "You were expecting what? Me, to be a complete mess? Bawling my eyes out, popping pills? That's Spencer; that's not Kate."

Jason says, "I've seen you broken before, that's all."

Her eyes flash and he's immediately apologetic. "I didn't mean that the way it came out. It was supposed to… I meant-"

"No you're right. I have been broken before," Spencer acknowledges. "But I've gotten really good at putting myself back together."

Her back's to him, now, and he says, helplessly, "See you around, Spence."

"No," Spencer shakes her head. "You won't."

* * *

It snows back home in Philly and his flight gets delayed. By the time he trudges up to their apartment on the third floor, it's almost ten p.m. and he's exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed. He never got to say goodbye to either of his sisters when the police carted them away and getting thrown head first into a confrontation with Spencer hadn't ever been something he was expecting. Likely, he'll never see her again, but this notion feels fuzzy to him, kind of like the concept of death; sure he knows it's coming for him sometime, but it isn't quite something he can focus on. It's sure and it's unsure; it's a sinful paradox and he realizes the situation Spencer's in is a terrible contradiction, too. Pushing open the door to the apartment, Jason rolls his suitcase across the threshold and shuts the door none too gently behind him. He's starving and tired and just emotionally drained, really.

And then, he sees Toby.

"Wow, you're back late," His roommate comments. "Flight get delayed?"

Jason nods slowly. "Yeah. By, like, three hours."

"That sucks," Toby says. "How was the conference?"

"It was fine."

"Good," Toby replies. "I'm on desk tomorrow morning, so I've got to work early. I'm going to bed."

Jason nods again and feels like a selfish bastard. The entire time he'd spoken with Spencer, he was so wrapped up in his own surprise and confusing mix of feelings that he never even _thought_ about mentioning Toby. He feels like the worst friend on the planet and in a fit of overcompensation, Jason calls, "Wait, Toby."

The aforementioned turns, eyebrows rising. "Yeah?"

And then, Jason freezes. He can't put Spencer in danger. She said so herself; _no one_ can know that they met in that alleyway. But this is the girl his friend has been in love with and has been lamenting over for _years_ ; she's the whole reason he's stuck doing something he hates, the reason he throws himself into every possible new lead on Charles's location, because even if she _has_ moved on, Toby's too selfless to care; he just wants it to be over for her. But this isn't the Rosewood police they're dealing with; this is the FBI. This is the Witness Protection Program and he _knows_ Toby; especially well, after five years. If Jason tells Toby he's seen Spencer, he'll find her, no question. And he doesn't want to drive his friend crazy any more than he wants to put Spencer in immediate danger of relocation.

So Jason simply shakes his head. "Never mind. Just forget it."

Toby nods. "Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Jason replies and hopes this won't come back to bite him in the ass.


	6. Six

**Hello friends! As usual, I freaking love you! And I hope you don't hate this chapter because let's be real, six chapters in, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Your reviews were amazing for the last chapter and I'm so, so glad you enjoyed. Hopefully you still will. No one makes any good decisions in this chapter, but that's what being an adult is like. It's what I've learned, anyway. :P  
**

 **Which reminds me of a little rant I'd like to share- these girls are 23. Like, 23. I'm 23. In the show, they're freaking engaged and married and someone told me Hanna's pregnant (I don't think that's true, but regardless). Like... this isn't realistic. You don't have your life together like that at 23. You just don't. I don't know what Marlene is thinking and this time jump is going to be shit. Calling it now. I hope you don't think mine is lol. But regardless I just wanted to portray them a little bit differently because most 23-year-olds do not have their shit together. They're lost and don't know what they're doing in life.  
**

 **And this has been a rant. Sorry if you read it LOL. I love you all, my beautiful, perfect sunflowers. See you next time! :)**

* * *

Six

It's been a week and the climate changes and the cold rolls in and October melts into November, and Spencer still cannot wrap her mind around seeing Jason. It isn't so much seeing him there that's got her in a state of permanent confusion; rather, it's all the things they'd talked about and more importantly, all the things they hadn't. Jason is her only tie to her old life, her _real_ life, and she hadn't asked him a single thing about it. She didn't ask about Melissa; Spencer is dying to know where her sister's ended up- if she ever got married, if she has any kids, what she ended up doing professionally and where she's living. She didn't ask about her parents; have they gone through with the divorce? If so, who got the house? Or, did they move out of Rosewood altogether? Speaking of Rosewood, she barely asked about that; though, Jason had moved out of Rosewood so she doesn't know how much he can say and she honestly can't blame him. If she were still Spencer Hastings with free will, moving out of Rosewood is the first thing she'd do, too. But most importantly and, honestly, what she's kicking herself most over, is that she hadn't asked about Toby.

Toby and Jason weren't close; at least, that's how she remembers it. She's not even sure if they've ever had a conversation, but perhaps he knows _something_ and to be honest, she's dying, here. She considered bringing it up towards the end, but part of her didn't want to know at all. Part of her was afraid to hear he was happy without her; part of her was afraid to hear he wasn't at all. So that part of her kept her mouth shut and now, the rest of her is left with no information about Toby and she's completely on edge about it. She wants information; she desperately _needs_ it. Did he leave the police force? Did he get out of Rosewood? Did he ever find out what happened to his mother? _Is_ he happy? Is he involved with someone? Maybe he's married. Maybe he's found someone who makes him very happy and is emotionally stable and not fully dependent on him to be her saving grace. That very thought delights her, for him, and terrifies her, for her.

She supposes it's good she knows nothing about Toby. If she did, it would just drive her up a wall. She'd be chomping at the bit, pestering Drasin nonstop about finding Charles so she can get home to him and they can live happily ever after. But she's stopped trying to convince herself that they'll ever be together again. She knows it isn't likely; she knows that Toby may have been her once upon a time, but they already got their happily ever after. It wasn't perfect and it wasn't forever, but it happened. It was wonderfully them, it was fleeting, and then it was gone. And she's grateful, really, she is, that she got even a small amount of time with him, because Toby makes everyone around him better by default. She's thinking of all of this now and she gets momentarily choked up. This, right here. This is the reason she doesn't let herself think about Toby. She puts a smile on her face and she listens to other people's problems at work and she's Kate Wilson, instead.

But, she dreams.

She dreams of conjugating French verbs on Toby's front porch and The Catcher in the Rye and _c'est dommage_ , no, _c'est la guerre_. She dreams of motel rooms and Scrabble games and cozy blue cotton. She dreams of funhouses and lookout points and picnics in the bed of his truck. She dreams he's there, arms outstretched, and when she falls into them, she's surrounded by his protective embrace, his comforting scent, her home away from home. She dreams that he calls her Spencer, because that's her name, and she dreams that her Scrabble necklace is hanging from her neck as he checks the time in that shiny pocket watch of his. She dreams that she's coming home, but home isn't a place and never really was. Home is wherever, so long as she's with him. And when he hugs her, presses a kiss to her hair, he whispers, " _We never gave up. And we never will_."

She wakes up sobbing so hard she can't catch her breath. It's the last words he said to her before she was carted away that morning five years ago, and when she's having a particularly awful day, it's those words that come back to haunt her. She dreams about Toby all the time; she honestly doesn't know why this is the one that hit her so hard. Perhaps it's because his face was so clear, his eyes so blue, that it was almost as if he was actually there. It's then that she realizes she can't remember the exact intonation of his voice. She knows how to make him laugh, but she can't remember what it sounds like and she's completely lost his smell; it's completely left her memory. Her heart breaks and the tears won't stop coming; she needs to pull herself together. She knew this would happen, sooner or later. Wiping furiously at her cheeks, Spencer climbs out of bed, heads into the kitchen and brews a pot of coffee. After all, coffee solves everything.

There's a knock on her front door and Spencer momentarily panics. She checks the mirror in her foyer and her cheeks are puffy and her eyes are red. Awesome. Yanking open the door, Spencer barely has time to greet him before Drasin is over the threshold and into her house. "You're on house arrest until further notice. The FBI got a tip that he's somewhere in Connecticut and heading north."

"Oh," Spencer sips quietly at her coffee, heading for the living room. "Okay. Thanks."

He notices something _off_ in her voice and then, actually sees her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I… just had a bad dream," She insists, sinking into her favorite armchair.

Drasin nods, sitting on the couch. "You still get those, huh?"

Spencer scoffs. "Can't imagine a day when I won't, but it's a nice thought."

"Anything in particular I can help you with?"

"No," Spencer shakes her head. "I'm okay. Really."

"Okay," Drasin says. "But you know if you need anything, I'm your guy."

She smiles. "Thanks."

"What are friends for?" He teases. "They might actually get him this time, Spence. It's a good lead."

"So I've heard before," Spencer sighs. "But if I'm on house arrest, does that mean I have to miss my date? It's not until Saturday, but-"

"A date?" Drasin's curiosity is piqued. "With who? Have I checked his background already?"

"Of course," Spencer says. "It's Danny, same guy I went out with last time."

"Are things getting serious?"

"I don't know," Spencer shrugs. "Probably not."

"Why not?"

She shrugs again and Drasin nods his understanding. "Spencer… Have I ever told you about my high school sweetheart?"

She shakes her head softly and Drasin goes on. "Her name was Marissa. I needed glasses in fourth grade and after I got them, a kid in my class thought it would be hilarious to throw a dodge ball at my face in gym class to try and break them. He missed, but Marissa was so angry with him that she nailed him, right in the face, with the ball. I'm pretty sure I fell in love with her on the spot. Anyway, we dated all throughout middle school and high school; we went to prom together and we were just facing separation for college, but we were pretty sure we were going to make this long distance thing work."

Spencer's intrigued, "And did you?"

"We never got the chance," Drasin says sadly. "Freshman year, she died during homecoming weekend. She was coming home from the football game and her car was t-boned by a drunk driver. It killed her and her roommate instantly."

"Oh my god," Spencer gasps. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," Drasin nods. "I took it really hard. I graduated and I got this job, but I just wasn't enjoying life like I used to. My friends took me out one night and there was this girl I was talking to for a while, but at the end of the night, I never got her number. My friend asked me why and I didn't really say anything, but he understood me. He was there when I lost Marissa. And he looked at me and said, 'It's okay to move on, Sam. She'd want you to.' And his words really hit me hard, Spencer. And I think… I think they may apply to you, too."

She's quiet for a long time before saying, "I don't think I'm ready."

"Spencer," Drasin grins. "I'm still single. Neither am I."

He stands, getting ready to go, but Spencer stops him. "Thank you."

He glances at her, puzzled. "For what?"

"For keeping me safe," She says. "And for always protecting me and just… Being really good at your job."

"I take my job seriously; I've always told you that," Drasin shrugs. "It's nothing."

"It is, though," Spencer insists. "I'm not used to it."

Concern rises in his eyes and he asks, "What do you mean?"

She thinks of Wren and Ian, of Dean and Andrew, of Collin and Jonny, and shakes her head. "Nothing, just… Thank you. It's appreciated."

"Well, you're welcome." He continues towards the front door. "And remember, house arrest, kid. If you need me, call."

She grins. "I will, thank you."

Spencer finishes her coffee but Drasin's words can't seem to leave her mind.

 _It's okay to move on_.

She'll try. Honest to God, she'll try.

* * *

They get all the way to Connecticut, guns drawn, Kevlar on, and the location they've tracked Charles to is a fairground; the only attraction left is an abandoned funhouse, with a creepy laughing clown repeating, like a broken record in a high-pitched voice, _Ha ha! Try again! Ha ha! Try again!_ Agent Bolton looks as though she's going to be sick; her extreme anxiety is through the roof, but she's trying to remain calm in front of her team despite the fact that she has absolutely no idea what to do next. What's worse is that they return to the field office in Philadelphia with nothing but grass stains and unused handcuffs. Lawson isn't pleased. Toby isn't either.

He returns home angrier than he's been in a while. He's so tired of living this exhausting lie and so sick of always coming up empty. Toby bangs open the apartment door, kicks off his shoes and sinks into the couch, throwing an arm over his face in frustration. He just wants this to be over. He wants this to be a memory, something he can look back on, years from now, and point to it when someone asks him what the hardest case he's ever worked on looks like. Honestly, he doesn't have a single idea who Charles DiLaurentis really is, but he's beginning to think he's a relative of Harry Houdini. There is no possible way five teenage girls could've tracked down this maniac alone, not if the FBI can't do it with their unlimited resources.

He honestly isn't so sure why he's in this sour of a mood. Surely, this isn't the first time they've come up empty handed and it likely won't be the last, but for some reason, _today_ is the final straw. Maybe it's the weather; it's been November for barely a week and already the temps are in the low twenties and the skies are grey, predicting snow. But then it hits him; _November_. He glances over at the calendar above the television and groans outwardly. _Of course_. He hadn't had time to keep up with what day it is, but his body knows. His mind will never forget. Of course he's in a shitty mood; why wouldn't he be? It comes once a year, like clockwork, as a reminder that once again, he's "celebrating" alone.

Jason's home moments later and he throws his coat over the rack. "It's too early in the year for it to be this cold."

Toby nods. "Yeah."

"How was Connecticut?"

"Same," Toby shakes his head. "We got _nothing_."

"What should we do about dinner?"

"Get whatever you want," Toby growls. "I don't care."

"Damn," Jason comments. "Who pissed in your Cheerios?"

Toby frowns. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's an _expression_ ," Jason shakes his head. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Toby replies, standing and heading for the kitchen, beginning to rifle through the fridge. He finds a beer and Jason immediately balks.

"Dude, seriously, what's up?" He wonders. "You _never_ drink."

"I do today."

He's heading towards his bedroom and Jason pleads, "Whatever it is, it can't be that big of a-"

"It's November sixth, okay?" Toby shouts back and Jason's puzzled.

"Yeah, I know," He says. "Is that supposed to mean something to me? I was just saying it was too early in the year for snow and cold-"

Toby turns back to face him and Jason senses heartache in his eyes. "It's our anniversary."

With that, he slams his bedroom door and Jason's left torn. It's been two and a half weeks, now, and he still hasn't told Toby about Spencer.

He desperately wants to, now.

* * *

She's uncomfortable. This dress isn't her style and the shoe straps are digging into her ankles and she burned her ear on her curling iron and it _still_ hurts. It's probably only about thirty degrees outside and she can't stop shivering, but she isn't even cold. She doesn't know why. Well, she does; deep down, she knows _exactly_ why. But she won't acknowledge it. That's Spencer's problem, and she isn't really Spencer anymore, is she? Instead, she graciously sits in the chair Danny pulls out for her and she accepts and peruses the menu and she participates in conversation even though she doesn't really have anything to say. It's normal; it's a _date_. And you should always celebrate your anniversary with a date, shouldn't you?

Problem is, it isn't _their_ anniversary; Danny and Kate have only recently met.

"So what are you going to get?" He asks, placing down the menu. "Anything you want, honestly. I hate when girls order salads to keep up appearances when they really just want a juicy steak. Unless, you want a salad, then in that case by all means, the Cobb is very nice here. Oh man. I'm screwing this up, aren't I?"

Spencer smirks. "No, you're not. I hate when girls do that, too. It's like, if you're hungry, order real food. You're not a rabbit."

Danny chuckles. "I like you, Kate. You're so down to Earth; so _real_."

It's the weirdest compliment anyone's ever given her and she _certainly_ isn't real. But she accepts it in stride. "I think I'm going to get the salmon."

"I'm in the mood for lasagna," Danny decides and Spencer freezes. "Do you like lasagna?"

She hesitates and shakes her head. "No. No, not really."

"Neither did Heather," He shakes his head and Spencer's saved by the bell. Or, in this case, saved by the ex. "She said it had something to do with the texture. It's the ricotta cheese she couldn't get past, which is just _so_ weird to me. Cheese is cheese, you know?"

"Sure," She nods and he jitters nervously.

"Oh my god, I'm talking about cheese and my ex," He groans. "Just shut me up. Seriously. Jab your steak knife into my hand."

"You're fine. Seriously," Spencer waves him off. "So, how's work?"

"It's going well, although I don't think the kids are digging the whole 'cut up a frog' lesson," He says. "But what kind of bio teacher would I be if I didn't make them do that?"

"We cut up fetal pigs in my bio class," Spencer remembers fondly and for once, it isn't a lie. "A friend of mine passed out just from the smell."

"I imagine that was pretty disgusting."

"That's the day I stopped eating pork, so yeah."

They order and their meals arrive and the conversation is actually going pretty well. Until Danny asks, "So, holidays are coming up. What are your plans? Thanksgiving, Christmas?"

Spencer hesitates, chews a bit of salmon, and then answers simply, "No plans."

"Oh, come on," Danny shakes his head. "You've got to have something in the works. Your family's not coming down?"

"I'll probably just go to my grandmother's, like always," Spencer plays the part, bowing her head a little when she says, "My parents died when I was in college, so it's just me."

"Kate," Danny says sincerely, taking her hand. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay. Really," She insists. "It's always harder around the holidays, but we get through it."

Danny nods sympathetically. "I'll bet. I can't imagine. Losing your parents, losing your traditions…"

Spencer nods and thinks of her many Thanksgivings and Christmases in Rosewood; her mother never cooked a single thing in that kitchen. The meals were always catered and always, without fail, arrived super early in the morning, with Veronica chasing Spencer and Melissa out of the kitchen, warning them not to sneak a single bite. They always did. Thanksgiving would bring Peter's side of the family, with her uncle who always got drunk too soon and her cousins who were even more goody-two-shoes than Melissa. Christmas would bring folded wrapping paper, spoiled eggnog and grandparents who always criticized Melissa's every move and snuck Spencer an extra slice of pie. She smiles fondly at the memory, now, and wonders what on Earth could fill her childhood home now that all the drama has come and gone.

She doesn't get too long to dwell upon it; they finish dinner and Danny pays even though Spencer insists for a full twenty minutes that she cover her half. He refuses her every move. They were going to go see a movie, but dinner and a movie sounded like much _too_ much of a date and she's pretty sure she drank the entire bottle of wine they were supposed to split and she _still_ can't do this. They end up back at her bungalow and she puts on an old Bogart film instead, one of her favorites, but he doesn't seem interested. Instead, he wraps his arm around her and they're cuddling at first and then they're kissing. She's just drunk enough that she allows herself to kiss him back, but not so drunk that she's going to let it go anywhere else. She couldn't do that; not with anyone else but _him_.

Lauren Bacall is on the screen and Danny's hands are on her waist, at first, and then one reaches for the hem of her dress. She pushes away from him like he's on fire and the flames have all but consumed her. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head furiously. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry; I don't know why I did that. We're not there yet, I know, and I didn't mean to pressure you into anything you're not ready for."

It's the most honest thing she's heard in a while, but trust is hard to earn and harder to keep, and unfortunately, her past with men isn't so stellar. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and says, "I can't do this."

"I know," Danny says. "It's okay. It's my fault. I didn't mean to-"

"No, not just… Not just that. I can't do _this_ ; us." Spencer clarifies. "Can you go home? Please? I need to be alone right now."

"Are you okay?" He wonders, eyeing her curiously. "Is it something I did?"

"No," She shakes her head. "It's cliché, I know, but it really is me. It's not you."

"I don't understand," He replies. "You're acting really weird, Kate."

"Just go. Please."

"Can I at least call you?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

Danny stares at her, dumbfounded, and then stands and leaves the house wordlessly. Spencer waits for the hum of his engine and the peal of tires on gravel before bursting into tears. She turns off the movie, takes a shower and gets into bed and she can't stop the tears from coming. They're soaking her pillow and her head hurts _so_ much and she really can't do this, anymore. She goes on, everyday, like nothing bothers her, but if there's one day that can ruin her just as it had the first time, it's November 6th. Seven years ago, she'd been sixteen and naïve and plucky; Toby had kissed her right outside the motel where they spent the night sleuthing like giddy teen detectives. Six years ago, she'd been overwhelmingly in love with him and then he'd shattered her heart into a million tiny pieces and she thought she'd never be able to recover. But she did; _they_ did, and they were okay, they were _great_ , for a time.

And then the leaves changed again and the Earth circled the sun and their time passed.

That night, she dreams again. She dreams she gets him back and cries again when she wakes up, empty-handed.

* * *

He's definitely planning on drinking them out of house and home tonight, the way he's going. He's just finished his fourth beer and it's really not cutting it. He needs something heavier. Toby pulls open his bedroom door and heads for the refrigerator. It's late, now; it's technically not even the 6th anymore, but the pain's just the same. He finds a bottle of scotch in the back of the refrigerator and he honestly hadn't even known it was back there. It's probably months old but hey, the older the better, right? He reaches for a shot glass and pours himself a drink and when he's downed it, he winces and grimaces and it burns the whole way down. This is the reason he doesn't drink; it's actually pretty disgusting. Movement is heard in the next room over and Toby groans; Jason's awake and now he's going to have to explain himself. The irony is hardly lost on him, even if he is mildly drunk.

"Dude, you are _such_ an amateur," Jason rolls his eyes. "Liquor before beer, you're in the clear. Beer before liquor, you'll get even sicker. Are you out of your mind?"

"No," Toby shakes his head and pours himself another shot. "Want one?"

"No," Jason groans and snatches it away from him. "Listen, I, of all people, understand the impulse to down that entire bottle. You're talking to someone who's been dealing with alcoholism for _years_. But you can't do it, man. You can't give into your vice. You'll always regret it."

Toby stares at him and says, "It helps."

"It doesn't help _anything_ ," Jason shakes his head. "How do you feel right now?"

"Sick."

"And do you even like the taste?"

"It's like furniture polish."

"Okay then. And guess what?" Jason wonders. "When you wake up tomorrow morning, your problems are _still_ going to be there. This bottle of Macallan isn't going to help you find Charles and it _definitely_ isn't going to bring Spencer back."

"Leave her out of this," Toby growls. "You have no idea what it's like."

"No, I don't; at least, not your exact situation," Jason tells him. "But she's my sister, Toby. I loved her too. I get it."

"It sucks."

"I know it does," Jason nods. "But we're getting there; we're going to get this psycho. And we can't do it drunk."

He tosses the bottle of scotch and downs the shot. "Let me get this for you."

But the look on Toby's face doesn't change. Jason sighs; he didn't want to have to do this, but it's also killing him to keep this a secret. He was never really good at them; secrets, that is. That was more of his parents' and Alison's thing. It's just another way he never fit in. "Toby, I have to tell you something."

"Shoot."

"Remember that conference I went to last month? In Boston?" And when his friend nods, Jason exhales heavily. "I was exhausted after having stayed up all night working on my speech. I wanted to get a cup of coffee and so I went to this coffee shop right outside the hotel. The coffee shop was on one side of the street and it overlooked this café on the other side and there were these girls sitting outside at one of the tables."

"Jason," Toby groans. "I don't want to hear another one of your hook-up stories."

Jason frowns. "It's not. But one of the girls… She just looked so… _familiar._ And I couldn't take my eyes off of her and apparently, I'm not good at being coy, because she noticed. And she came over, probably to tell me off, but she never got the chance because…"

Toby's eyes are wide; he knows exactly where Jason's going with this and yet, he isn't interrupting.

"It was Spencer, Toby," Jason admits finally. "I saw… I _talked_ to Spencer."


	7. Seven

**Good morning friends! You guys are awesome. I still can't fathom your amazing responses and your continued support. I really hope you know how much I appreciate it and how much I love you guys. Now you're all expressing your concern over Jason's slip of information (well, I guess it wasn't really a slip...) which is good. You should be concerned. We know how reckless Toby can be when it comes to Spencer. And once upon a time, when she first ran into Jason, a few of you were like, "Too bad it wasn't Toby!" Well, in the infamous words of the Pussycat Dolls, be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it. ;)**

 **(That was a terrible reference, I'm sorry). Anyway, I love you, you beautiful, majestic unicorns. I have since finished the last few chapters of this story and will hopefully be able to update more often, real life-willing. Maybe not every 12 hours, as SpobyFicStalker suggested, but something close to that haha. Thank you friends! See you next time!**

* * *

Seven

"You saw…" Toby stammers, complete overcome with anger. "You fucking _talked_ to her and you didn't think I'd want to know about it?"

"No, I _knew_ you'd want to know about it and that's why I didn't tell you," Jason sighs. "Just hear me out, man-"

"No, you better hear _me_ out!" Toby exclaims. "I can't believe you would keep this from me! How dare you! You know what I've been going through! You've watched me struggle with this for _years_ and you still thought it was a good idea to keep it a secret?"

"Yes, and for this reason, Toby," Jason sighs. "We bumped into each other; I didn't seek her out. It was honestly not even supposed to happen; I could've decided I wanted a soda instead of coffee and she could've picked a different café. Our paths might not have crossed-"

"Well they did," Toby cuts him off. "God, it would've been bad enough if you'd just _seen_ her, but you actually spoke to her. You actually had a fucking conversation with her and you didn't even tell me!"

"Toby, she can't have any contact with _any_ of us, or she gets relocated," Jason repeats as though his friend doesn't quite know the rules. "Don't you understand that? Don't you know that if anyone ever knew we spoke, she'd be in _so_ much danger?"

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't agonize over that everyday?" Toby shoots back. "I don't want to be the one to put her in danger. God, the whole reason we're _doing_ this is to prevent that."

"Which is exactly why I didn't tell you. Don't you get it?"

"Why?" Toby asks. "Because you think I'm so unstable that I'll risk it all to find her? That I'll throw caution to the wind and put her safety into question just for my benefit? If you really think that, you don't know me. Spencer's safety is _all_ that I care about."

"I know," Jason nods. "I do. But I couldn't risk it. Just in case."

Toby's still fuming. He can't even fathom the level of anger coursing through his veins; it's a kind of furious he hasn't been in years, not since the words 'Witness Protection Program' first entered his daily vocabulary. He's angry with Jason for seeing her and he's angry with him for keeping their meeting a secret, but mostly, he's just angry that _Jason_ is the one she saw and talked to and not him. And he knows it's ridiculous, because there is literally no way for her to _ever_ see him again, but Toby knows that part of his anger stems from that special kind of jealousy with a bit of hurt tossed in. They're feelings he isn't used to and he isn't fond of, but then a new one comes over him; curiosity. Thirst for more. Intrigue. He hates to admit it, but he's forgotten the smell of her hair, he can't even hear her voice anymore and the curves of her body, which he once knew by heart, are now all but a mystery to him. He knows Jason won't know these things, but he's got to start somewhere.

A long, tension-filled silence brews between them before Toby gives in and asks, "So where is she?"

"I have no idea," Jason says truthfully. "She was in Boston for some seminar her boss made her go to. You know she couldn't tell me, Toby. There's no way she'd give her location away."

"Was she being followed?"

"I don't know," He shrugs. "I never saw anyone, but they're the FBI, so I'm assuming they're good at being covert."

Toby contemplates this before asking the one question he's begging to know the answer to. "How does she look?"

Jason considers this a little uneasily. "I don't know… Good, I guess."

"You guess?" Toby implores. "Is she happy? Healthy? Safe?"

"Yes. Yes to all three," Jason replies. "Those worry lines are gone; whatever she's doing now, it's been good to her. Her hair's a little shorter; it falls just around her shoulders, now. I don't know, man. It's _Spencer_. It was weird to see her but… She's all right."

Toby nods after a while. "Good. That's all that matters."

He turns and heads towards his bedroom. "I'm going to bed. Thanks for uh… for finally telling me. I'm sorry I blew up about it."

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," Jason says after him. "But you understand, right?"

"Sure."

He closes the door behind him and falls into bed, ready to sleep his drunkenness away. Sleep never comes. Instead, he lies awake the entire night and ends up greeting the day as though sleep has become a thing of the past. Perhaps it has; he can't stop thinking about Spencer and it's been so long since he's spent a night sleepless because of her. He'd been naïve to think it would never happen again. He tries to picture her now, but he fails; the only image he has of Spencer is eighteen-year-old Spencer, and eighteen-year-old Spencer was anxious and traumatized and haunted. He's seen her happy, whenever she was with him, but it was always fleeting; something always chased it away and he always tried desperately to get that smile, that carefree nature, that easiness back for her. There was only so much he could do.

It was easier before; that's the conclusion Toby comes to when the sun comes up on a brand new day. It was easier when he didn't know Spencer was out there, living and breathing and going on. Of course, he always knew that and that's what's gotten him through these past few years without her, but it's also what's now tearing him apart. Somewhere, she's working and playing and living and loving; somewhere, she's _not_ Spencer Hastings, but a whole new human, a human he doesn't know and likely never will. He wonders where she is, he wonders what her life is like, and he wonders if she's decided to settle down and share it with someone else. That last one hurts, salt in an old wound, but he tells himself it's okay. It really doesn't matter, anyway; Toby lives for her safety and her happiness. If she's happy, then he's happy, even if it's not with her.

Just knowing she's out there, _somewhere_ , and she's okay is enough for him.

* * *

He's changed his mind. It's not enough.

It should be; really, it should. But Jason's awoken the beast inside and now, just the mere thought of her, is driving Toby insane. She's okay and he's relieved; that's all he wants. But now, he needs to know where she is. He isn't going to seek her out; he's not going to try and find her because he'd _never_ want to endanger her safety. But he has to know; it's like a drug. He's had a taste, a simple sampling, and now he can't get enough. Dressing in uniform, Toby runs a hand through his hair and a toothbrush through his mouth and grabs an apple from the kitchen counter. Jason's typing away on his laptop and haphazardly eating a bowl of cereal and he asks if Toby's still mad. He isn't; he really can't be, not when Jason's had his best interest at heart. And as he's heading in to the FBI field office, Toby knows he has no right to be angry; not when everything Jason had been trying to prevent is now more or less coming true.

Technically, he's not really needed today. It's Sunday and he usually has the day off, Lawson's orders. It's strange how this hierarchy goes; Lawson is the head honcho of this entire operation, but he's separated everyone into teams and Bolton- Lydia, as she's always quick to correct him- is in charge of his. Anything she says, goes, but Lawson will always have the power to override her. Toby's not quite sure where he stands; he's not an FBI agent, but he's just recently made detective, even though he's not even really on the force. It's a meticulous grey area, but he's not questioning it. He just does as he's told and he finds that's the best way to deal with whatever comes his way. He strolls into the office and picks up a cup of coffee, the room already a bustle with a flurry of activity and he's reading over a stack of documents in a manila folder when Bolton- _Lydia_ \- notices him.

"Cavanaugh! What are you doing here?" She asks. "We don't pay overtime, you know."

"I know," Toby shrugs. "I don't need overtime, I just… I was bored. I thought I could help."

"Actually, now that you're here…" Lydia says, handing over a stack of papers. "Could you file these? Lawson will have my head if I don't get these in by the end of the day."

"Sure," Toby agrees and gets to work. They work in silence for a while before he asks, "Any updates on our little friend?"

"Depends on what you mean by updates," Lydia sighs. "I really think we're in over our heads, here. This guy, whoever he is, is a mastermind."

"Don't remind me," Toby says. "But have you found anything?"

"He mailed us a box," Lydia replies, lowering her voice a little. "After we sent it through the bomb squad for testing, we opened it and it was completely empty except for a plastic goodie bag; you know, the kind you get at the end of birthday parties?"

Toby can count on one hand the amount of birthday parties he attended as a kid. But he nods anyway. "Yeah. What was in it?"

"A kazoo, a yo-yo and one of those plastic knives you can use with Play-Doh," Lydia lists. "And the creepiest things of all- five paper dolls with their heads cut off."

"Yeah," Toby frowns. "He's a got a thing for dolls."

"I guess I just don't understand a motive," Lydia shakes her head. "I mean, this is a _grown man_ , we think, right? And he's going after these young girls? It just doesn't make sense."

"None of it's ever made any sense," Toby agrees. "Welcome to my world."

"We're going to figure it out, though," Lydia assures him. "Both our jobs depend on it. And so do the lives of those five girls."

Toby nods. "Yeah. You're right."

"I mean, at first, when Lawson brought it up, I thought the Program was excessive. Like they hadn't gone to trial and that's usually the protocol, you know?" She goes on. "But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense and it's actually kind of _genius_. Who can get to them now? No one."

"Wait," Toby stops her. "You were on the panel when they decided to enter the girls into the Program?"

"Yeah," She nods. "It was one of my first days on the job. I was fresh out of the academy, ready to go, ready for anything, and this was my first case."

Toby doesn't say anything for a while. He just sits, files and processes. But the news is overwhelming; _she knows_. If she was on the team that sent the girls away, then she knows exactly where each of them is. And he doesn't know what to do with this information; he wants to force it out of her, although not literally, because he knows she'll never offer him this information willingly. But as they sit there together, filing paperwork and discussing –A's greatest hits, Toby can't quite figure out a way to broach the subject with her. He can't just casually ask and chances are, she'd never tell him, anyway. Most likely, he'd get in trouble for asking and probably removed from the project altogether. So he spends the morning thinking of an idea, thinking of a way to somehow make the information slip out, and then, as he always does in times of struggle, he asks himself the infamous question- _what would Spencer do?_

The answer is right there in front of him. "Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you want to maybe go to dinner sometime?" He wonders and it feels _so_ weird; he's never done this before. "With me?"

She smiles slowly. "Sure. Tomorrow? I'm off at seven. So are you."

"Tomorrow, then," Toby smiles, too, ignores the burgeoning pit of anxiety in his stomach.

It's the first time he's been on a date in five years. When tomorrow comes, his mind is everywhere and something doesn't feel right, but he ignores it. It isn't the first time he's ignored his conscience in these years since her absence, but this time feels different. He goes about his day and he does his job and he helps his colleagues and Lydia smiles at him in their morning meeting. He smiles back. It feels forced. He likes her; really, he does. She's intelligent as hell and has a sharp wit and she makes him laugh when he feels like crying, but she's missing something. Or maybe he's missing something and trying to find it in her is like grasping at straws. He brings a change of clothes and when he clocks out, he changes from his uniform to a nice button down and slacks. It's strange. He presses on.

They end up at P. F. Chang's, because they can't decide where to go and Lydia mentions the Chinese bistro has great lettuce wraps. Toby's not even sure what a lettuce wrap is, but he goes with it. He's trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of his probing, but Lydia hasn't mentioned a single thing that he can branch off of. She clearly likes to leave the office in the office. They're sharing a plate of sweet and sour chicken and lo mein and with every bite Toby feels guiltier and guiltier. He needs to get this out already before his conscience has a coronary. But just when he's about to casually slip it into conversation, Lydia mentions something of her own.

"I'm really glad we're doing this," She says, chopsticks in hand. "I always thought you never actually liked me."

"I do," Toby shakes his head. "I like you."

"No, I know, but I meant…" She trails off, adding, "Like _that_. I was dropping hint after hint and Simone told me I was being crazy and that you were clearly not interested, but… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No," He sighs. "No, I'm glad you did."

"Really?" She smirks, skeptical. "You don't sound glad."

He can't do this. It isn't right. She's too nice of a person for him to exploit; Toby simply cannot use her for information. It's not who he is. "Lydia, I haven't… exactly been honest with you."

"What do you mean?" She wonders. "Oh no, is this when I found out you're secretly a serial killer? Because let me tell you, Toby, you _totally_ don't fit the bill."

"No," He shakes his head. "I do like you, but maybe not in the same way you like me."

Her eyes darken just a bit and she shakes her head. "Then why did… Why did you ask me here tonight?"

Toby heaves a sigh. "When I tell you, please don't be mad. I'm just trying to figure out a way to deal with this."

Lydia nods. "You have my word."

"You were on the panel that decided where to relocate the girls," Toby confesses. "I'm not trying to find her; I _swear_ to you, I'm not. I just want to know where she is. I _have_ to know where she is."

Understanding and a little bit of sympathy wash over her face. She nods. "Toby… I really don't know anything about any of those girls. I know that they were tortured for years and I know that the nature of this torture made Lawson feel as though their lives were at stake and thus, he had to create an exception to the rule and allow them to become members of the Program. When I asked him to find a spot for you on our team, he agreed with only a slight hesitation. He was worried, at first, that you were perhaps too close to the matter at hand to be involved. When I asked him why, he told me the entire reason you joined the force in the first place was because you were sick and tired of not being able to protect your girlfriend. He reminded me that I was there, in the room during your disciplinary hearing, when you'd said those exact words. I'd almost forgotten. And that has still got to be the most admirable thing I've ever heard."

Toby's silent; he's not sure where this is going. "I don't know which one of those girls was your girlfriend and frankly, that technicality isn't what matters to me. What does matter is that you know that whichever one she was and wherever she is now, she's a different person. And knowing where she is isn't going to help you or change that. I hope you understand this isn't coming from a place of anger, disappointment or jealousy. It's coming from legitimate concern. I've known you for five years, we've become friends over that time, and it's important to me that you know that I care about you. I sympathize with what you've had to go through and I can't imagine the kind of pain you must constantly be in. You're stronger than you think, believe me."

Toby nods slowly, wary to accept her compliment. "Thank you."

"That being said," Lydia goes on. "If I ever told you where any of those girls are, you and I would both lose our jobs and all five of them would be relocated. You must know that."

He sighs. "I do. I'm sorry, I just-"

"So the only reason I'm going to do this," Lydia cuts him off, her eyes locked on his. "Is because it can't get traced back to me. Their general locations are pretty common knowledge around the office; you might've overheard a conversation about them or you caught a glimpse of the files looking for something else. That's what you're going to say if anyone finds out you know."

Toby nods, wide-eyed. "Okay."

"All I can tell you," She whispers, leaning closer. "Is that they were moved to the four corners of the country. And that goes for the four others; the leader, Alison? Only Lawson knows where she is. Apparently, she's the biggest target and, thus, was the toughest to hide."

Toby repeats, "The four corners of the country."

"That's all I can tell you," Lydia says. "I really hope you make peace with that."

"No, I will, thank you. Thank you _so_ much," Toby assures her. "You're a great friend. I have no idea how I'm going to repay you."

"Hmm… How about dessert?" She grins. "And we'll call it even."

They order the great wall of chocolate and Toby's mostly at peace. Just having an inkling of where she is will be enough.

* * *

Until it's not.

It really feels like a drug and he can't stop himself from thinking about how to further this process. It's Tuesday morning, now, and he's sitting behind his desk, studiously ignoring his fieldwork and instead, looking up information on the four corners of the U.S. That isn't really part of the mystery. The four corners are simple; Washington, Maine, Florida, California. If this were more of a difficult question, he might feel a bit more accomplished when he figures this out, but he doesn't. If he's going off personality's sake, he can place each of the girls easily- Washington is rainy and dark and eclectic, so it's a perfect place for artsy Aria, who will likely be holed up in a cabin in the woods, painting or writing or pursuing photography. Maine is all about fishing and outdoorsy, sporty activities, so it's a grand fit for Emily, he likes to think. Florida, easy; it'll be a great spot for Hanna, all the tequila and sunshine she could ever ask for. And lastly, California is where he figures Spencer would fit in best, mainly because she doesn't know _what_ she wants from her future and what better place to put her in than the land of opportunity?

That's where Toby would place each of the girls, anyway. He has no idea where the FBI has actually placed them.

If he wants to lose his job, he can get into Lawson's office and computer and find out. He knows the access codes and he knows where to find the information he's seeking. If he wants to endanger Spencer's safety and risk her relocation, he can find out where she is and go see her. But he doesn't want to do any of these things. He's toeing a very fine line and he if he goes any further, he'll likely lose the trust he's been building up all these years, anyway. He knows it isn't enough; he was _so_ close to finding her, after all. But it has to be enough. He has to _accept_ that it's enough because he really has no other choice. He's turning into a monster. This is exactly what Jason had been trying to keep from happening when he'd kept the secret for the last two weeks. He understands, now. In fact, he wishes Jason had never told him in the first place. He's driving himself insane.

Just as Toby's sinking back into his work, a call comes over the radio and everyone's in a tizzy. Lawson emerges from his office, shouting, "Code red! Everyone to the squad cars. This is _not_ a drill! I repeat, this is _not_ a drill!"

Toby grabs his holster and Lydia races past him. He grabs her arm. "What's going on?"

"One of our agents got a lead on Charles near Augusta," She tells him. "We've got to _move_."

"Augusta? Maine?" Toby wonders. "Why is he calling code red? If we're down here, and he's supposedly in _Maine_ -"

"We aren't the target," Lydia says. "Remember what I told you?"

 _The four corners of the country- Florida, California, Washington, and…_ Toby's eyes widen. "You think he's found one of the girls?"

"Anything's possible," Lydia shrugs. "We need to get there. _Now_."

And they do. Maine is already frozen over with the icy tundra of winter despite the fact that it's still fall and it's barely a week into November. There's an FBI agent waiting for them at headquarters and it seems Charles would like to send them on a goose chase, for in the time it took for Toby and the rest of the agents to get to Maine, he's completely left Augusta. They track his whereabouts as best they can and they're just outside the greater Portland area when they find his trail again. Guns drawn, they enter an old, abandoned warehouse and it's completely empty. Or, so they think. Right by the back door, there's some broken glass and a few droplets of blood. And, the real jackpot, a cell phone with a smashed screen. They may not have captured him today, but they've truly hit the mother load with all he's left behind.

Lawson somehow thinks he's going to strike again and so they set up camp in a back conference room in Portland's local police department and decide they're staying in Maine until further notice. Toby's not as sure. He's been around –A longer than anyone on that force and he knows that now that Charles senses they're closing in on him, he'll be out of Maine like his ass is on fire. Regardless, he does as he's told and he shivers analyzing evidence and breaks his head over getting through the intense security this broken cell phone has. If he ever needed Caleb's help, it's right now, at this very moment. He decides he needs some liquid caffeine and slips out of the department, unnoticed. For a town already so cold, he's assuming there's a coffee shop on every block.

He assumes correctly. This town is so pleasant and so beautiful, though, that he finds himself walking right past every single one. Instead, he's taking in the frost on the water and the lighthouses cutting through the dense afternoon fog and boats still cutting through the icy sea. Everyone who passes him nods or says hello and Toby isn't used to this kind of congenial nature. He doesn't know what it's like to experience a group of people who are always polite. He's stopped on the sidewalk, just admiring, and he's honestly forgotten all about his work and how cold he is. For now, at least. There's something about this town that just screams _peace_. A door behind him jingles open and he's startled out of his reverie. He turns and meets the kind face of an older woman, who's regarding him as if he's lost his marbles.

"You just gonna stand out there all day?" She wonders. "Come inside before you catch your death of cold in this weather."

Toby's still staring and then he finds his voice. "No, I just… I was going for coffee. I've got to get back to work."

"I can do that, too, you know," She chuckles. "Come on, then. You're letting all the warm air out."

Toby ducks inside the diner and finds himself picking a counter seat. The woman brings him a steaming mug moments later and he downs half of it. She chuckles. "Name's Margaret. You got one of those?"

"Toby," He says. "Thanks. For the coffee."

"I serve the best pot in town," She grins and moments later, returns with a bowl of hot soup. "Best chowder, too."

"Oh, I'm okay, thank you," Toby shakes his head. "Really, I don't think it'll go well with the coffee."

"You're not from here, are you?" She smirks. "Coffee and chowder's the taste New England loves."

Toby nods slowly. "We'll give it a shot, then."

"So what brings you to town?" Margaret asks, wiping down the counter beside him. "Visiting family?"

"No, just, work, I guess," Toby says, wondering how his uniform hasn't given him away. "It's nice, though. Portland is."

"Eh, it's just a big city," She shrugs. "You ought to take the ferry over to Casco Bay. Then you'll see nice."

He agrees. "Maybe I will."

The door jingles open again as Toby's dipping his spoon back into the soup. He's not a big chowder fan, but he has to admit it's the best clam chowder he's ever had. Margaret's pouring coffee into a paper cup and bagging a muffin when she grins at the visitor. "There's my girl! Did you catch Frank before he left? He's been meaning to talk to you."

"Yes, and he told me to tell _you_ that he needs the receipts from last week or, in his eloquent words, it'll be his ass." The girl replies.

Toby pauses. That voice…

"He's so dramatic. Let me grab those for him. Oh, and please, take this to your grandmother for me? I'm hoping she'll be well enough to join us Thursday night? We've missed her."

"Of course," The girl says obediently. "It was just a cold. She's feeling much better."

"Good," Margaret rummages through the drawers before frowning. "They must be out back. Wait here just a second? You're not going to be late, are you?"

"I've got a couple minutes left," The girl says. "I'll be okay."

"Be right back!"

As Margaret disappears, Toby can't _dare_ to believe his ears. He's forgotten the sound of her voice, but it's all just come screaming back to him. He lifts his head and he almost can't bear to do it, but he turns. At the doorway, there's a beautiful girl dressed in boots, skinny jeans and a deep emerald pea coat. There's a beanie on top of her head, mittens on her hands, and a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. Her hair's a soft brown and falls in curls just around her shoulders. The cold's brought a certain pinkness to her cheeks and her eyes are wide and glossy. She's just taken the bag and coffee and she's tucking them away for later and she moves with an air of purpose, her moves calculated as they always have been. And Toby's sitting there, completely awestruck, and he cannot stop staring at her.

For here she is, standing maybe ten feet from him, and he didn't seek her out. He's found her by accident; fate threw her in his path.

He can't help it; he stands. Toby walks slowly and grows closer still and when her eyes lift to his, she does a double take. He's stolen the words from her mouth, the breath from her lungs, with one soft, simple question, "Spencer?"


	8. Eight

**Hello friends! I think this chapter is the one I worked hardest on and if it isn't, it's the one I edited the most. I feel very protective of it so I hope it goes over well. Regardless, your reviews on the last chapter blew me away, as usual, and I cherished each and every one. You're all wonderful people and I love you guys. Seriously. I couldn't ask for anything more.**

 **So we're a little over halfway through, now. But believe me, the fun is just beginning. ;) Most of you are still concerned about the Charles of it all and that's good. You should be concerned. He's still out there, somewhere, and he should always be at the forefront of your mind. He isn't at the forefront of Spencer and Toby's minds. That could prove to be a problem down the road... :P Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for your continued support! You're all lovely and I love each and every one of you wonderful, glowing angels. See you next time!**

* * *

Eight

Only now, now that he's standing mere inches from her, is he realizing how dangerous it is that he's actually here.

They've been standing here only moments, but it feels like hours and he hasn't said anything else and she hasn't spoken a single word. He can't be here; _they_ can't be here. He's sure any second the FBI agents on her case are going to burst into this diner, cart her away and yank his badge from his possession. But still, he finds himself paralyzed to the spot. His black and white world has just been splashed vibrant colors once more, doused in the real and the ethereal, and he feels like he hasn't been living, hasn't been _breathing_ , until right now. His eyes follow each and every contour of her face, searching for alterations, scanning for anything he doesn't recognize as he desperately tries to remember all that he's ever known, all that he's lost. Toby stands there, just stands there, and stares, drinks her in, satiates himself with the delight of seeing her, because he's not sure it'll ever happen again.

And she's beautiful; oh God, she's so beautiful. It's like these five years have done nothing but enhance what was already there in the first place. Her eyes are softer and her hair is shorter and Jason's right; the worry, the anxiety, the fear- all things he'd grown so accustomed to seeing in her- they're all gone. Somehow, he'd allowed himself to forget how absolutely stunning she is and a part of him is glad, because it's like he's experiencing this for the first time, now. His heart is pounding and his hands are shaking and he feels like he's seventeen again, completely clueless to the idea of love and lust and all things good. She'd made him believe, back then; in them, in her, in himself. He has no doubt in his mind that she could do it all over again.

They're still staring when Margaret returns with an envelope of receipts. "Here you go, Kate. It took me a minute to sort them all, but that should be what Frank needs. Tell him if he needs anything, to swear at _me_ , not you."

And Toby knows she's in the Program, knows she's got a brand new identity, but he still startles at the mention of her new name. Spencer accepts the envelope, muttering out, "Thanks."

"You okay, Katie?" Margaret chuckles. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Finally, her chocolate brown eyes tear off of him and she shakes her head. "I'm okay. I'll just… I'll go get these to him and get back to work."

"Yeah, tell him to stop bothering you for favors, yeah?" Margaret shakes her head. "You've got your own life. He can handle his."

"I don't mind, you know," Spencer replies.

"That's your problem, then," Margaret says, getting back to her tables. "You're too nice!"

The envelope gets tucked into the front pocket of her coat and then they're back to staring. She's fishing through another pocket when Toby says, "I can't-"

"Make an appointment, okay?" She says instead and it's the first words she's spoken directly to him and he doesn't understand. She hands him something from her pocket and when takes it, their hands brush for just a moment and, like a defibrillator, he's shocked back to life.

"Okay," Toby nods and then she's gone, the door jingling behind her.

He's at a loss for words. He honestly has no idea what just happened. Opening his palm, he notes that she's left him a business card. _Kate Wilson, Grief Counselor_.

Perhaps she wants to talk, after all.

* * *

It's been five years and it isn't until this very second that she's finally come to terms with the truth- she still hasn't let him go.

Spencer is pacing, straight pacing, in her office and cursing herself for not pulling Toby out of that diner, for not finding some safe place for them to talk, and, most of all, for not having a better handle on her emotions. She can't stop thinking about him and one might argue that this is no different than usual, but somehow, it is. She hadn't, honestly, ever been expecting to see him again. Sure, her dreams torture her with instances where they're together and slowly kill her with scenarios in which they're not, but that's just her subconscious. Spencer's pretty used to be tortured by her subconscious; there are nights when she still remains sleepless and others, when she wakes up screaming. But she's not used to being tortured by fate. Mostly, because she doesn't really believe in fate. But someone out there is screwing with her.

On Wednesday, she starts the day as she always does; a morning run, a shower, a cup of coffee. She dresses in a white button down and a simple black skirt and heads into the office. She's got a plethora of appointments today; she's pretty booked solid and she isn't really surprised, because the holidays are coming and every year, without fail, they tend to bring out the deep, dark emotions in people. She's so jittery and anxious and she doesn't know why he's brought this out in her. It's _Toby_ ; the man she loved, the man she trusted, the man she confided in. But then, she has a paralyzing thought; what if he isn't? What if he took her advice, got out of Rosewood, fell in love with someone else and he's just here on business? What if those gorgeous blue eyes she'd lost herself in, yesterday, now belong to a Toby she doesn't recognize? She spends the time with her first two clients agonizing over this and she's already too far gone by the time her third rolls in.

"Miss Wilson," Their secretary announces. "Your next client is here. Mr. J. D. Salinger."

Spencer deadpans, "The author? He's dead."

"Well, your client isn't," She says. "Shall I send him in?"

"Yes, please," Spencer nods and her confusion ebbs away the moment he walks through the door.

Toby steps in, shuts the door behind him and begins to remove his coat. He's still got all the gentle ministrations he's always had; it's the first thing she notices as he hangs up his coat, pulls up a chair and takes a seat. His eyes are still boyish and to be honest, it's the only thing she recognizes. That deep running ocean of impossible blue still somehow considers her with the highest regard and she can feel the tension leaving her body from just a look. His face is a bit rougher around the edges, like this job he's still in has taken its toll on him, and there are stress lines on his forehead, something that used to be more her quality than his. He's dressed as comfortably as she's ever seen him, in jeans and a sweater, and he's so goddamned beautiful, she can't stop staring at him. Spencer's drinking him in, drinking in every last detail; she's stranded in the middle of the Sahara and he's her only water source. It only makes sense. It's how they've always been.

Finally, she finds something to say. "J.D. Salinger?"

He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. "If you have an alias, I figure I needed one, too."

And then it hits her. J.D. Salinger. _The Catcher in the Rye_. Her heart is going to explode. "I… I can't believe you're here."

Toby sighs. "I shouldn't be."

She frowns. "Why not?"

"You _know_ why not," He says pointedly. "If any of those agents watching you saw us right now-"

"They can't watch me here," Spencer tells him. "Doctor-patient confidentiality. That's why I told you to make an appointment. I wanted to talk to you… alone."

Toby nods and seems to understand. She chances, "How are you?"

"Okay, I guess," He tells her. "You?"

"Same," She replies. "You're still a cop?"

"I know you didn't want me to be," Toby says and Spencer shakes her head.

"That's not it," She disagrees. "I wanted you to be happy. And you weren't; not as a cop."

"It's okay," Toby tells her. "It's a slow process, but we're getting there."

"And then what?"

"And then," He says. "I hope we can bring you all home."

A silence follows, but Spencer can't help but wonder, "How is it? Home, I mean?"

"I don't get back to Rosewood often," Toby tells her. "I live in Philadelphia, now, with Jason."

"Wait, hold on," She shakes her head. "You two live together? Did he tell you that he and I-"

"Yeah, after a while," Toby nods. "He didn't want to tell me because he said he was afraid I'd… try to come find you."

Spencer smirks. "Which you did."

"Which I _didn't_ ," He corrects her. "We got a lead that Charles was here, in Augusta, somewhere. We chased him all the way to Portland and he disappeared."

Spencer nods. "Oh. So if I hadn't gone to the diner yesterday, you wouldn't have ever found me?"

"Spencer," He says and it's been _so_ long since she's been Spencer and her pulse races. "I didn't know where you were. They don't exactly trust me with that information… and with good reason."

She contemplates this information and then asks, "So Rosewood…"

"Right," Toby shakes his head. "It's still Rosewood. Jenna moved back to town after you all left, as if you guys couldn't coexist in the same town."

"She's on to something, there."

"Yeah," Toby says. "My parents basically disowned me when I told them I was going to help the FBI find Charles and bring you all back."

Spencer scoffs. "Like they didn't already."

He shrugs. "It's not so bad. The town's gone back to normal, really. As normal as it can be while still being Rosewood."

"Whatever happened with the police investigation?" Spencer asks, tucking both legs under herself in an effort to get comfortable. This information is like a fix; she can't get enough. "Does anyone ever ask about us? And what about Caleb and Ezra?"

"Tanner was fired and so was ninety percent of the department," Toby fills her in. "Lorenzo left town and as far as I know, Ezra did, too. I never saw him again, after prom. Caleb's in New York. We still talk, but we don't see each other that often. It's hard; I'm busy, he's busy. But as for asking about you… No one really does. It's almost as if Rosewood wants to completely erase the five of you from its memory."

"Of course it does," Spencer rolls her eyes. "That's such shit."

"You're telling me."

After a beat, she asks, hesitantly, "What about… What about my family?"

Toby takes a deep breath and Spencer braces herself. "Your parents tried to put up a united front after you left, but I just think the damage was irreparable. They got a divorce, but honestly, I think it was good for them. They're getting along better now than I think I'd ever seen while they were married."

Spencer nods solemnly. She can't say she didn't see it coming. "Are they seeing other people?"

"Not that I know of," Toby shakes his head. "They're both so focused on their careers, as usual. Your father's getting more and more ruthless and your mother's running for Supreme Court justice. But she said she has some big news to announce on Thanksgiving, so I mean, that could be it."

"Wait," Spencer stops him. "Thanksgiving? She invited you for Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, yeah, that's… That's kind of been a thing, since you left," Toby explains. "Thanksgiving and Christmas, every year."

Spencer smiles and for some reason, the idea of her parents finally fully accepting Toby forms a lump in her throat. "That's… That's really nice."

"Yeah, it is," He agrees. "Jason comes, too. I guess, with all the heat surrounding Jessica and Kenneth and Alison, they just wanted him to feel like he had somewhere to go."

She honestly can't process all this change, all this information, but she needs _more_. "And what about Melissa?"

"Melissa's kind of a mystery," Toby says. "No one's seen her since you left and your mother only hears from her every now and then."

Spencer probes, "Why?"

"Honestly? No one really knows," Toby explains. "Your mom thinks she feels guilty that she never spent enough time with you or because you two fought like cats and dogs since the beginning of time. She thinks Melissa doesn't want to come home now because things are too different now that you're gone. I don't know if I share her view. I really just think Melissa's keeping away on purpose."

Spencer contemplates this. "That sounds like her."

Toby nods and offers, genuinely, "I'm sorry."

Spencer's head is swimming, honestly, and she doesn't know what to do with all this information. She obviously didn't expect her family and friends to be frozen in place, but it's strange hearing about all the ways they'd moved on without her. Finally, she asks, "And how are you? _Really?_ "

"I really am okay," Toby insists. "I'm just ready for this to be over. I'm not going to pretend it wasn't hard, at first; Jason can attest to that. He saw it firsthand, but now… I don't know. I'm kind of numb."

She nods. "I know the feeling."

It's Toby's turn for questions. He wonders, "Kate Wilson?"

Spencer chuckles just a bit. "She's a sailor and a fisherwoman and a grief counselor extraordinaire. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Maine at Augusta, her parents passed away just before her freshman year of college and she's a friend to almost everyone in this town."

"And she's completely made up," Toby says. "How are you doing this?"

Spencer shrugs. "It's my life now, Toby. I don't have a choice. Make them believe it or…"

"Or get relocated when they find out the truth," Toby finishes and then shakes his head. "You're amazing. I can't imagine how difficult this has been."

"It's been no picnic, but I've got a great team with me," She says. "They're always updating me on what's going on. They keep me safe."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he nods anyway. "At least someone can."

Spencer frowns and leans closer, taking one of his hands in hers. Electricity sparks between them and she assures him, "You can. You did. I promise you, I… I always felt safe when I was with you."

He smiles just a bit, placated for now. His hand squeezes hers. "I missed you."

The bottom falls out of her heart and she's pretty sure she's going to spontaneously combust. How can she even begin to express to him how deeply and desperately she's missed him? She sighs and closes her eyes. "God, Toby, I missed you too. So, _so_ much."

"I thought I'd go out of my mind," He admits and she nods, feeding off of his misery and supplying plenty of her own.

"Me too," She agrees. "I thought I'd never recover."

"But we did. We both did, somehow," Toby says. "We were melodramatic teenagers that thought we'd _die_ without each other, but we didn't. We found strength and we moved on."

Spencer nods and withdraws her hand from his. She feels cold without him. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we did."

A timer beeps, somewhere, and it startles both of them. Toby glances questioningly at her and she tells him, reluctantly, "Our time's up."

"Oh," He frowns, standing and reaching for his coat. "Well, I'm… I'm glad we did this. It was really, really good to see you."

She stands too and before he departs, she calls out, "Wait!"

He's barely turned around before she's thrown her arms around him in an embrace and she feels his arms come around her as if by reflex. Every nerve in her body is on fire now and her heart is racing and she can't stop shaking. And there it is; that familiar smell she'd craved and then forgotten, filling her nostrils and bringing tears of nostalgia back to her eyes. She blinks them away; there's no time for that. Their breathing is in sync and she can feel his chest rise and fall against her own. Her face is buried in his neck and his skin is still so soft and she doesn't know why she ever forced herself to forget the way he makes her feel. And Toby's probably right; they found strength they didn't know they had and they'd been able to move on. But they hadn't ever really forgotten; after all, the kind of passion, the kind of understanding, the kind of unconditional love they shared when they were teenagers… Well. That never really dies.

She pulls away and meets his eyes. She's sure hers are wild. "Why did you come here?"

"Spencer," Toby shakes his head. "We got a lead and-"

"No," She counters. "Why did you come _here_?"

"I wanted to see you," Toby tells her and she knows he's being honest. He's still the most honorable man she knows. "I _needed_ to see you. I needed to know you were alright."

"Well, I'm not," Spencer says, trying the truth on for size, for once. "I'm living a lie. I'm in _hiding_. I spend every single day listening to other people's problems instead of confronting my own and the people who care about me, the ones who call me a neighbor or a friend, don't even know who I really am."

"I know, Spence," Toby states. "I know."

"No, you don't," Spencer disagrees. "You don't, because if you did, you wouldn't have come here. Because now, on top of all of that, I have to deal with this! With seeing you, here, and I can't go back, Toby! I can't go back to my life before and just pretend like I never saw you; like you're not out there, somewhere, missing me as much as I miss you."

"I'm not asking you to go back to that," Toby says, scrubbing a hand over his face. "God, this is messed up."

"We can't go back, Toby," Spencer repeats herself, shaking her head. "Not to what we were. It's been five years and we're both different people, now."

"I know." He sighs and, frustrated with himself, throws his coat on roughly. "You're right. I shouldn't have come here."

"No," Spencer agrees and then adds, quietly, "But I'm glad you did."

He stares at her a moment and then asks, "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," Spencer says. "This is crazy."

"We can't go back, like you said," Toby repeats. "But I can't go on living my life without knowing I'm going to see you again."

"We can't be seen together," Spencer tells him. "If anyone finds out, you'll lose your job."

"And you'll lose this, all of this," He gestures around the room. "So what do we do?"

She holds her head up high and says, "We say goodbye. Again."

A storm cloud passes in his eyes but he nods firmly. "Right. Yeah. It's the right thing to do."

But she's weak; she always has been. "Unless..."

"Unless?" He asks, hopeful.

"We can still see each other now," She shrugs. "While you're in town. And then we'll say goodbye later, when you leave."

"How?"

"We'll keep it a secret," Spencer suggests. "You're still here for a couple more days?"

"Yeah," He nods. "But you're under 24-hour surveillance. How are we going to do this?"

"Very carefully," Spencer tells him. "Do you still have the same number?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'll figure out the details and let you know," Spencer says. "We're going to figure this out. We have to because I'm _not_ losing you again."

Toby nods. "Okay. Okay, let's do this."

He bids her farewell and her next client enters and Spencer's head won't stop spinning. She can't keep the smile off her face, despite the horrors her patient brings.

For the first time in forever, she feels like she's flying.

* * *

He can't concentrate the rest of the day. His entire day is spent staring absentmindedly at the blinking cursor on his computer, disregarding the fact that he can't hack into this phone and thinking solely about her. He knows this is wrong; he's still got a conscience, after all. Putting Spencer in danger is the absolute last thing he wants, but seeing her and being with her is the first. When he's dismissed for the day, he heads for the hotel they're staying in, yanks off his uniform and pulls jeans and a t-shirt. Now that he's seen her, he honestly isn't sure how they made it five years without one another. Once upon a time, he told her everything and vice versa and they were there for one another when no one else was. He supposes it wasn't entirely healthy to have to be _everything_ to one another at all times, but that's what the times demanded. And damn, he wouldn't change a thing. Even their hardships he welcomes, because they made them who they are today.

He's just finishing his take-out when he gets the text. _198 Sea Breeze Lane. After 8 p.m._

Easy. By the time he gets over there, it should be about 8:30. She greets him at the front door with a grin that he easily returns and then she grabs his wrist and yanks him over the threshold. Toby asks, "You sure it's safe here? We won't be expecting any FBI visitors, will we?"

"No," Spencer smirks. "It's not like he's standing at my window with binoculars."

"Hey, I don't know how this thing works," Toby says. "Does he live here?"

"Here? In my house?" Spencer shakes her head. "No. He lives down the street, in an apartment. He's just a phone call away if anything were to happen."

"A phone call?" Toby seems skeptical. "That doesn't seem very immediate. What if Charles had a gun to your head?"

Spencer shrugs. "Then I guess I'm dead."

He must have an uneasy expression on his face because she assures him, "I'm fine. Really. He used to be on top of my every move, 24-7. Like he'd screen my text messages and read my e-mails before I did. But as time went on… Charles never showed up so he kept taking steps back. Giving me more space. It's been nice."

"He _screened_ your texts?" Toby exclaims. "What a complete invasion of privacy."

"It's his job," Spencer tells him. "Technically, he's supposed to still be doing it. He just decided not to. He trusts me."

"Well, good thing he's not," Toby comments. "Or else you and I would be _so_ busted."

"That's what I'm saying," She smiles. "Well, let me give you the grand tour!"

She walks him through the kitchen, the living room, both bathrooms and both bedrooms. It's small and cozy; definitely no Hastings' manor. But she seems delighted to finally own her own place and he certainly gets the feeling. "It's beautiful, Spence. Really, really nice."

"Ugh, and my view," She says, yanking open the gorgeous French doors to reveal her back porch. "I mean, it's dark now, but can it get any better than that?"

He peers out over the rolling sea and shakes his head in awe. "No. It really can't."

"I could stare at it all day." Spencer says. "On my days off, sometimes I do."

Toby glances at her and comments, "You seem really happy here."

She smiles and nods. "I like to think I am. Kate definitely is."

"What about Spencer?"

She turns to him. "No one asks about her anymore."

"I'm asking," Toby insists and Spencer turns back to the cresting and breaking waves.

"Well, according to the government, Spencer no longer exists," She replies. "But if she did, I think she'd like the house and the beach, but find the town a bit boring."

"You don't have to speak in third person to tell me how you really feel, you know," Toby says and it's so cold, he can see his breath. "I mean, I've been here two days and this town already kind of feels like Rosewood to me."

"It's different," Spencer shakes her head. "People are nice and everyone more or less stays out of your business. They always genuinely want to help and the block parties are fun and there's always someone to hang out with on the weekends. But… I kind of expected I'd have one of those lives with more adventure, you know? Backpacking across Europe or scaling the Alps or white water rafting through the Grand Canyon."

Toby nods. "You can still have that, you know. When this is all over."

"Ah," Spencer comments, shivering and heading back inside as he follows suit. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Toby smirks. "Who are you quoting now?"

"Albus Dumbledore," She tells him, shutting the doors behind them. "And to be honest, there are some days when I'm so happy, I don't _want_ Charles to be found. I just want to be Kate forever so I never have to leave this house or this beach or any of these people."

"But?" He says because he senses there's more. He's right.

"But," She goes on. "Then I feel guilty for forgetting you and Hanna and Emily and Aria. I feel guilty for all those people who died at his hand and would never be avenged if he were to never be found. And then I'm angry all over again."

He can't say he blames her. She heads for the kitchen and says, "Do you want a drink? I'm going to make something. It's so cold."

"Yeah, I could use something to warm up," Toby agrees. "Hot chocolate?"

"Actually, I was thinking something a little harder," Spencer grins, a bottle of rum in her hands. "We're adults now, right?"

Twenty minutes later, they're laughing on Spencer's couch, cocktails in hand, and he hasn't had this much fun in _years_. God, he's missed this wonderful girl. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to live without her again. There are tears of mirth in her eyes as he asks, "Tell me you didn't. Tell me you didn't do it."

"I did! Everyone was egging me on," Spencer laughs, gasping to catch her breath. "I had already had one too many shots of tequila anyway, so what's a couple more?"

Toby shakes his head. "I'm literally so terrified of what you're about to tell me."

"So it turns out, body shots are not taking shots off of someone's body," Spencer then explains. "As I would then learn the hard way, they were taking _shots_ off of someone's _body_."

"Sure. I know exactly what you mean, now."

She swats him, going on. "I had to lay down on this slab of wood, which I'm pretty sure was this frat guy's closet door that he'd repurposed into a beer pong table. Anyway, so I'm about to ask what the hell is happening, but I don't get the chance, because they lean over me and stick a lime in my mouth. Then they're sprinkling salt on my stomach, then they're sticking a shot glass of tequila in my bellybutton."

"Spencer," Toby laughs. "I don't even know why you're telling me this."

"You asked what the craziest thing I've done in the last five years is, so here you go," Spencer replies. "College is a fucked up place, Tobes. Get used to it."

His stomach flutters at her use of the old nickname and he chuckles, saying, "Go on."

"So this guy I barely know comes over. Stumbles over, is more like it; his name's Nate," Spencer waves off this point, irrelevant. "He leans down, licks the salt off my stomach-"

"I can't listen to this."

She swats him. "I haven't even gotten to the good part yet!"

"Okay, fine!"

"He licks the salt off my stomach, downs the shot," Spencer goes on. "But as he goes for the lime, I was suddenly very aware that we were about to be more or less kissing and I freaked out. It was a knee-jerk reaction; I punched him."

Toby's eyes widen. "In the face?"

"Worse- in the _stomach_ ," Spencer laughs. "That's where my hand was! So he's been doing _nothing_ but drinking and he bends over the table and just vomits. Everywhere. And I was so mortified; I rolled the fuck off that table and never went back to that fraternity again. The end."

Toby's laughing so hard, he's got tears running down his cheeks. "That's adorable. You made a guy throw up over you."

She grins. "I think we need to redefine your concept of adorable."

He's still laughing a moment later when she requests, "Okay, your turn. Tell me something equally hilarious and humiliating."

Toby thinks a moment and then frowns. "Ugh, I've got the _perfect_ story that fits that description."

Spencer's eyes light with excitement. "Oh, great!"

"So living with Jason has been an adventure in its own right," Toby starts. "And he and I are very different people."

"Can I just say that you guys living together is one of the weirdest things I've heard?" Spencer comments. "Just because of the fact that you're so different. You and Caleb would've made more sense. But continue."

"Yeah, well Caleb's in New York or else it might've worked out," Toby agrees. "Anyway, there was this one night I was supposed to work late, but someone else relieved me so I got to go home a little early. It was almost midnight, I was exhausted, and so I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. You know, get ready for bed. The front door opens and obviously it's Jason-"

"Either that, or you're getting robbed."

"Good thing I'm a cop, then," Toby jokes. "So Jason's not alone. Jason's making out pretty heavily with some girl and they're headed my way."

"They're going to do it in the bathroom?" Spencer asks, her eyes wide. "Ew! What am I saying? I can't hear this! He's my brother!"

"He didn't get very far, trust me," Toby says. "So I didn't know what to do, so I jumped into the shower."

"Why didn't you just leave the room?"

"I panicked!" Toby replies. "So they're making out against the bathroom door and it's getting intense, so I just casually reached out and turned the shower on. They stopped, they left, and I got completely _soaked_ for no reason. We've still never talked about it."

Spencer is clutching her stomach. He's never seen her laugh this hard. "You just… You turned on the water… You got soaked… _Oh my god!_ "

"Yep," Toby shakes his head. "So that's a little insight into living with Jason DiLaurentis."

"Oh my god, that's too funny," She wipes at her eyes. "I can't handle it."

And this is how the rest of their night goes- drinking, swapping stories, making up for lost time and laughing until their sides hurt. It's late when he chances a glance at his watch and does a double take. "Shit. I should get back to the hotel. I've got to get some rest before tomorrow."

Her face falls a bit and she says, "I can't believe it's this late already. It doesn't feel like it."

He's surprised, too; they'd easily spoken for hours and hours and it felt like mere minutes. "Can I see you again? Tomorrow?"

She nods eagerly. "We'll have dinner."

"It's a da- plan." Toby catches himself. She notices. He stands and heads for the door, pulling on his coat. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah," She nods and he wraps his arms around her in an embrace. "Goodnight, Toby."

"Goodnight," He bids and disappears into the night.

The entire way back, Toby repeats it like a mantra; _get your shit together, you can't do this,_ _you are not falling in love with her again._

It takes him the entire night to realize why this doesn't work. To fall in love _again_ would suggest he'd actually fallen _out_ of love with her in the first place.

And five years' worth of suffering is all the proof he needs to know that had never happened.

* * *

Spencer has breakfast with Mary Anne and they discuss their Thanksgiving plans and then she heads off to work. She's got a much more cheery outlook than she usually does and this is saying something, because she's worked _so_ hard to keep Kate as happy and as positive as possible. She listens to all of her client's problems and offers legitimate solutions and gets grilled cheese and tomato soup with Lauren and Cara on their lunch break. She meets Drasin outside her house when she gets off work and they banter playfully back and forth before he wishes her a good night. She's praying it is. From there, she sets the table, pours the wine and makes a baked chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans. Just as she's putting everything on the table, there's a soft knock on the door and her heart does a somersault.

It doesn't have the right to. They're not going to jump into things. They're going stay friends, become a constant in each other's lives again; that's what they'd more or less agreed on. She wipes her hands on her jeans and heads for the door, telling herself to remain calm, stay poised, cool and collected. She doesn't; her face breaks into a grin at the sight of him there and he cautiously looks over his shoulder as though he's being watched before he ducks inside. She takes his coat, hangs it inside her closet by the door, and invites him further into the house. Toby remarks on how delicious everything looks and smells and then comments that, once again, there is nothing she cannot do. She laughs but can't deny it. They make conversation and keep it light and it isn't until after everything is eaten and cleaned up, and they're on the couch finishing off the wine, that things start to go a little dark.

Toby takes a sip from his glass and admits, "We're leaving tomorrow."

Spencer's face falls. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah," He confirms. "Lawson wanted to stick around for a few days so he could see if Charles came back. He didn't. So we're going back to Philly and trying again."

"Oh," Spencer says simply and she takes a rather large gulp of wine. "So what does that mean?"

Toby sighs. "I don't know. We say goodbye for real this time, right?"

"I guess so," She says, her voice small. "That's what we agreed on, right?"

"Right."

Inhaling a deep breath, she suggests, "Unless..."

Toby shoots her an amused glance accompanied by a half-smirk. "There can't be an 'unless,' this time. It has to be over. It has to."

"I only _just_ got you back, Toby," She admits quietly. "I'm not ready to give you up just yet."

He nods solemnly and she knows she's broken him. "I know. Me either."

"When I left the first time," Spencer tells him. "The first thing I did when I got here was visit a toy store. I bought Scrabble. I came home and… I arranged 'glyceraldehyde' and 'goofball' on there and I left it up for weeks."

Toby's quiet a bit before saying, "That first night after you left, I read _L'Attrape_ - _cœurs_ cover to cover. I read the whole thing and then I read one chapter every single night for a year."

"I had nightmares- I _still_ do- about –A," Spencer admits. "But the ones that killed me the most were the dreams I had about you, because I'd wake up expecting you to be there… and you weren't."

Toby reaches into his pocket and produces the golden watch she'd gifted him and her heart catches in her throat. "I bring this with me _everywhere_."

"I'm not an optimistic person by nature. You know that," Spencer confesses. "So when the agents told me Kate Wilson was positive and upbeat and always happy, I didn't know how to play that so I… I modeled her personality off of yours."

"I don't drink; at least, not heavily," Toby says. "But on November 6th, I do."

"I went on a date on our anniversary and it felt like I was cheating on you."

"I got super drunk and _Jason_ had to talk me out of it."

"He kissed me," Spencer grimaces. "And then put his hands on me and… I told him to leave; to go home. And then I cried myself to sleep."

He lays a hand on her thigh and she inches closer. "Spence, I missed you _so_ much."

"I was miserable," She agrees, coming even closer. "I pretended I wasn't so often, I even convinced myself."

"I have to leave tomorrow," Toby laments. "But I'm coming back."

Spencer nods. "You better."

Their eyes lock and there's so much raw emotion there, it nearly knocks her out. There's an understanding, there's a sense of closure, a sense of new beginnings. She reaches her hands upwards and finds herself getting closer, still; she wants to keep getting closer until they're basically a part of one another. She caresses his face, the pads of her thumbs swiping across his cheeks and delighting in the baby soft skin, and allows herself the pleasure of drowning, right then and there, in the unimaginable ocean in his eyes. He reaches for her and she comes willingly. Arms around one another, their foreheads convene somewhere in the middle and it's always been so intimate and so delightfully them. Anticipation builds within her, five years' worth, and it feels delightfully new and scintillatingly familiar all in one.

Their lips meet; slowly, at first, then more and more urgent. She tastes him and realizes she has been starving.


	9. Nine

**Good morning, good morning! Are there enough words in the English language to thank you for your responses? Probably not. I feel like I go through this every time and all my author's notes look the same, but I seriously am astounded every single time. Thank you so, so incredibly much for everything you've said and honestly, just for reading in the first place. There's a lot of great fic out there. I'm honored you're still reading mine.**

 **A lovely anon reviewer asked about the longevity of this story and I can reply, now, with the fact that it's going to be 14 chapters. So we might be nearing the end, but don't worry, because all the excitement is yet to come. I love all of you, my tiny and purely perfect little snowflakes. I'll see you next time! :)**

* * *

Nine

Spencer has no idea why they thought they could stay friends or why they ever thought they wouldn't fall for each other all over again.

It had happened even faster this time than it had the last; two and a half days, three, if you're being generous. Their kissing is hurried and impassioned, all lips and tongues, hot breaths and moaned sighs. Five years of being deprived of one another are culminating in the most intense kiss of her life. They haven't broken contact once; breathing happens so quickly in between, if you blink, you'll miss it. Their hands roam the contours of their bodies, once so familiar, and now, they must rediscover what they once held sacred and theirs. This is what kissing is supposed to feel like. This is something she'd desperately missed and hadn't ever been able to replicate. It's this moment, right here. It's him. Unknowingly, she'd been searching and searching for him all along.

She breaks contact for just a moment to stand and pull him with her. It's clear they're headed for deeper waters and she doesn't want this reunification to happen on the couch like they're teenagers again, biding time in his loft. He follows her lead and his arms are around her again; they're kissing again before they've even made it to the hallway. She reaches behind her for her bedroom door, pushes it open and somehow, blindly, shuts it and she doesn't know why she bothers with this extra step, honestly. The rest of the empty bungalow will never tell their secret. He lifts her into his arms and she squeals in surprise. They fall ungracefully onto the bed and it feels like them; everything they do is ungraceful. The first thing to go is his shirt and her eyes alight with a special fire at the sight before her. His beautiful abdomen; how could she have forgotten this eighth wonder of the world? He rolls his eyes at her fascination with his stomach and brings her lips to his once more. Her mind is then occupied elsewhere.

Her shirt goes next and then his pants. He's got one arm around her torso, the small of her back, and the other's just below her scalp, his hand tangled in her hair. She cannot get enough of this. It's like a cool sip of water on a boiling hot day. It's like finally arriving at a treasured destination after a long and dry car ride. It's like running and running, like being chased, only to realize she's not being chased, she's _chasing_. Chasing a high, chasing a feeling, chasing a _love_ ; and that scares her and she doesn't say it, even if she feels it. She kisses him instead. She kisses his neck, his chest, and every single one of the rippling muscles on his abdomen and he works the button and the zipper on her jeans when she pauses to find her breath. Soon, they join the rest of their articles of clothing on the floor, ultimately and utterly forgotten. Just as she had wondered, when they first got together, how she'd lived sixteen careful years without him, she is now wondering how she ever managed to get up and greet the day for five years straight when he is the air in her lungs, the blood in her veins.

They're both entirely naked now and it's been years, but he still looks the same. He hovers over her and for just a moment, he hesitates. Spencer's eyes regard him with concern and Toby looks almost sheepish as he admits, "I haven't… Not since we last…"

And if she didn't know it before, she certainly knows it now. She runs a hand down his cheek and cranes her neck to kiss him lovingly. "Neither have I."

It's agonizingly tender and fervently heated and in the end, she aches with release in the best way possible. Just once is not quite their style; they make love again and again, or not at all. After the third time, her watch chimes with the new hour and Spencer realizes, at this point, it's nearly morning. "What time are you leaving?"

"Eight," He tells her, running his fingers through her sweaty, matted hair. "We've got time."

She rolls over her side so she's on top of him and their bodies brush sensually once more and her stomach flutters with that familiar sensation. She kisses him soundly and tells him, "I'm glad you're still a cop."

"Me too."

"And I'm glad you got that lead on Charles."

"So am I."

"And I can't believe I'm saying this," Spencer shakes her head, her hair falling out from behind her ear. "But I'm glad they took me away. I'm actually fucking grateful for the stupid Witness Protection Program."

This, she can tell, he was not expecting. He disentangles one arm from her to tuck her hair back in place. "You are?"

"I couldn't see it back then," Spencer explains, rolling off of him as her back hits the mattress. "But we needed the space. We weren't healthy, Toby; we weren't being honest and love was all we had. It wasn't enough. We needed time to figure out who we were. And figure out if we still wanted to be in this relationship."

"Hmm. I guess you're right," Toby considers and turns his head, asking, "Do we?"

She eyes him, sends him a pointed look. " _Do_ we?"

He connects their lips and she has to break contact because she can't stop grinning. "We do."

She nods. "We definitely do."

He begins to toy with the ends of her hair as she says, "We were honestly _such_ a mess. We had problems. We needed to take the time and fix them."

"It wasn't our fault," Toby puts in. "None of it was. Honestly, name one argument we had that didn't have anything to do with -A."

"I can't," Spencer thinks after a moment. "But even still. We were really messed up, towards the end."

"We weren't _that_ messed up," Toby disagrees. "We always found our way back to one another, somehow."

"But that's just the thing," She says. "We shouldn't have _had_ to. We had such a shitty communication issue. And I don't really know what the problem was, there."

"I do," Toby admits guiltily. "It was me."

"It wasn't you," Spencer disagrees. "We just never confronted each other about how we felt. We thought we could fix it but we couldn't. At least, not alone."

"No, Spence, it was _me_ ," Toby confesses. "I ran. Whenever you wanted to talk, or whenever we argued, or whenever I felt like I fucked up so badly that I couldn't fix it, I ran. It was instinct and I know that's enough. I know that's not an excuse. But I did. I just couldn't bear the thought of staying for the fallout and having you _hate_ me and so... I just left. Every time."

"Toby," Her voice breaks. "You know I'd never-"

"I knew. Deep down, I knew," He says. "But whenever you got that look in your eye… Like you were disappointed or angry or… I just thought I'd fucked up the only thing I cared about and I was so ashamed of myself that I had to punish myself in the only way I knew how."

She traces the beautiful outline of his face and shakes her head. "You can't put the blame solely on yourself. I was just as fucked up as you were."

"Oh yeah?" Toby wonders skeptically. "I can't imagine that."

"Come on, Toby, I placed _so_ much of my emotional state in your hands," She confesses. "And it's not your fault, it's mine. I told you that you were my safe place to land and you always were, but when you couldn't be… I retreated. I fell apart. I pulled away from you. I couldn't bear going back to that place… that state I was in at Radley. I was so afraid of completely losing it that when I sensed you were pulling away, I pulled away first. And it was just… It was one hundred percent out of insecurity that one day, you'd realize I was a fucking disaster and you'd just leave."

"Spencer," She can hear the heartbreak in his voice. "You were afraid, after all that time, after all we'd been through, that I'd just abandon you?"

"I'm not proud of it," She shakes her head. "I'm not proud of how I acted or how I dealt with it. Vandalism and breaking and entering and kissing two other guys in an effort not to _feel_ so much for you; in an effort not to care. And it never worked and I don't know why I bothered trying, because the only thing I did was hurt both of us in the process."

"Oh, Spence…"

"It took me five years to realize and come to terms with that," She tells him honestly. "So if we're going to do this again, if we're going to give this another try, we can't do it like we did before."

"No," Toby agrees. "We'll fall apart again."

"We needed the space," Spencer repeats. "To grow into this relationship that was always, quite frankly, intense as _hell_."

"It really was," Toby says. "But there's no ifs about it _._ I'm not losing you again. I won't let that happen."

"Good," She grins. "Because you're it. Five years was too long without you, and you're it."

She means it with every inch of her heart. He goes back to kissing her and she isn't complaining. In a moment, he pulls away to ask, "Wait, how are we going to do this? Like honestly how? I'm not even supposed to know you're here."

"But you do," Spencer counters. "And you can't un-know it. So we might as well keep it going."

"How?"

"Carefully, like I said," She tells him. "You'll make up some excuse to come back and I'll tell a couple lies. Hell, what's a few more, in the face of all the others I've told?"

"We're really going to do this."

"We are."

Toby chuckles. "This is crazy."

"It _is_ crazy," Spencer agrees. "But so are we. And we always have been."

He grins at her and she grins back, because it's true, honestly. They've always been black or white, ride or die, fight or fuck. She has no idea what the immediate future holds, but he's back in her life, so she mostly doesn't care.

And hey, if they're going to go out, they might as well go out swinging.

* * *

He's pretty sure Jason suspects something is up.

He and Spencer share a heartfelt goodbye at the end of their time together- though it in no way parallels the last time they parted- and he heads back to Philadelphia in good spirits. He has absolutely no idea how his life spiraled so far out of his control, but he has a hunch that things just might work out in the long run, so he sticks it out. Jason asks a bunch of questions, most of which Toby couldn't answer if he wanted to, and they both go about their days as usual. However, he can't help but feel _happier_ since he'd reconnected with Spencer and considering it's been only about a week since he went on his anniversary drinking binge, he's sure Jason's the tiniest bit suspicious. Luckily for Toby's sake, his roommate never asks.

Work picks up speed; they don't really get anywhere with Charles, but Toby's got his own cases to crack. He's not an FBI agent although most days, he feels like one; Lydia keeps him updated on all the things they're dealing with and thankfully, she doesn't seem too broken up about the miscommunications resulting from their pseudo-date. Thanksgiving approaches rapidly and, as per tradition, Toby and Jason head back to Rosewood and dine at the Hastings'. It is, as it always is, insanely weird and awkward. Any time he's in that house, Toby has an undying urge to sneak upstairs to Spencer's old bedroom and see if her mother's done anything with it and every time, he talks himself out of it. Melissa says she'll be there, then changes her mind and says she'll be late, and then never shows up at all; when Veronica calls and asks, she says she's celebrating up north, with friends, and no one understands. Peter shows up halfway through with no explanation as though he'd been there all along. And, as they always do, they set a place for Spencer. Just because.

The first week of December, Toby finds himself buying a plane ticket for Maine and explaining it away to Jason with some kind of excuse. He's not even sure it makes sense and he's definitely not positive that Jason buys it, but the plan's a go. This whole thing is dangerous and he hates feeling like any second now, they're going to get busted, but he's also helpless to deny either of them the physical and emotional contact they've been craving for years. He checks into a hotel but he doesn't ever stay there; when she's at work, he busies himself seeing the town and when she's home, he busies himself with her. His dreams are full of happiness and light again and he awakens each morning he's with her with their limbs tangled and a drowsy smile on his face. Toby has absolutely no idea what he's doing. But he's not surprised that Spencer can get him to do such crazy things. She's always had that ability.

He's lying on his side, watching the snowfall outside her bedroom window. It's his last full day with her; it had been a lovely long weekend that they'd spent holed up in her cozy bungalow getting reacquainted. Unfortunately, it's almost time for him to return to the real world once more. She must be thinking the same thing; she curls her body against his and wraps an arm around his stomach, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "Is there any way that you could just stay?"

He takes the hand now draped across his torso and links their fingers lazily. "And do what? Become your live-in sex slave?"

She giggles. "Are you complaining?"

"No," Toby shakes his head. "What are my benefits? Aside from the obvious."

"Duh," He feels her shake her head. "You'd get to be here with me. And we'd get to cuddle all the time. Do you see how good I am at being the big spoon?"

He laughs. "I never doubted it. You were a great big spoon, right from the beginning."

She presses a kiss to his shoulder and asks, "Were you awake that whole time?"

"Not the _whole_ time," Toby assures her. "You jostled me awake trying to get away. You're not as sneaky as people take you for."

"Um, I withdrew my arm very delicately, thank you very much," Spencer disagrees. "You're remembering it wrong."

"Maybe it was that heavy old shirt weighing you down," He teases and she frowns.

"No! I miss that shirt," She plucks at her sweatshirt and complains, "This is _so_ not the same."

"I had a hunch you felt that way," Toby tells her. "My suitcase seemed a bit lighter last time I checked."

She gasps and colors. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," He rolls his eyes. "You're a secret klepto; you know that, right?"

"I am _not_."

"You kind of are," He teases. "And anyway, it's not like it's the blue one. I don't know whatever happened to that; I still can't bring myself to go to your room."

"You have to," Spencer urges him as her arms slip from him and he rolls to face her. "I _have_ to know if my mother changed it or not."

"Next time," He waves it off and plays a bit with the ends of her hair.

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand and he feels an odd sense of déjà vu when he asks, "Do you want to get that?"

"No," She tells him sincerely and they're kissing instead.

In moments, her phone silences, but the silence lasts just a minute before it vibrates once more. Toby pauses just a moment to say, "Is it a client?"

"They don't have my personal number; I left my work cell in the car," Spencer says and glances haphazardly at the nightstand, frowning. "It's just an unknown number."

Toby appears concerned. "Unknown?"

"No, I know what you're thinking, but don't," She shakes her head. "It's probably just the FBI. They call on government-issued phones that can't be traced, so it always comes up unknown. But believe me, I freaked out the first time too."

Still uneasy, Toby says, "Okay."

"Oh my god, shut _up_ already," Spencer silences her phone and reaches for him, instead. "Now where were we?"

And he's distracted by the feeling of her lips on his and the fits of arousal coursing through his veins, but her phone begs to be heard. He pulls away, rests his forehead against hers, and says, "They're not giving up."

"Well, they better," Spencer tells him, reaching for the phone and switching it off. Carelessly, she lets it slip through her fingers and it clatters to the floor. "I'm sure it isn't life or death. Leave me alone."

And just when they're really getting into it, reaching that point of no return, there's a harsh knocking on her front door from down the hall and she pulls away violently. " _Fuck._ It's Sam. I should've known."

"Who's Sam?" Toby wonders in confusion as Spencer sits up straight and pushes back the comforter.

"The agent on my case. He checks on me twice a day, remember? God, he's early, that son of a bitch," She frets. "You have to get out of here."

"Get out of here? Where am I supposed to go?" He asks just as hurriedly. "Do you want me to do a James Bond out the window? Pitch myself over the cliff?"

"No," She smiles but it falters a bit when she hears a key in the lock. "Just… Hide in the closet."

"The _closet?_ " He exclaims, yanking on boxers and a t-shirt as Spencer walks him backwards, towards the corner of the room. "I'm sorry, are we still sixteen?"

"Do you want to get caught? Just _go_ ," She shoves at his chest and he raises his hands in defense. "He won't stay long, I promise. I'll make sure of it."

The closet door swings shut between them. She's just pulled on a pair of shorts and readjusted her sweatshirt when she opens her bedroom door to find Drasin standing there. "Oh, hey. I didn't know you were here."

Toby smirks from the closet. Smooth, Spence. A semi-frantic voice answers, "You didn't come to the door. You were nowhere to be found. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't think you're either being held at gunpoint or dead."

"You're really dramatic, you know that?" Spencer replies. "My phone's charging. I was brushing my teeth in the other room. I didn't hear you."

"Dramatic? How about _worried_ about you?" He replies. "You're in hiding, Spencer. You're escaping a killer. You're not on vacation."

"Right, and I'm _fine_ ," She tells him. "I was going to go make some breakfast. Blueberry pancakes; you want some?"

"No. Your distractions aren't going to work," He says and then there's a slight pause when he asks, "Going somewhere?"

Toby curses inwardly. His suitcase; they hadn't even thought to hide it. But Spencer recovers without missing a beat. "I still haven't unpacked from that weekend in Boston. I just haven't gotten around to it. Maybe I'll do that before breakfast, okay? That way you don't think I'm skipping town."

"Okay," Drasin nods. "So why don't you tell me who you were talking to, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I heard voices. You're here alone, I presume?"

"I was on the phone."

"I thought it was charging?"

"Jesus, am I on trial?" Spencer groans. "I can be on the phone while it's charging! It was with Stacey; she was confirming my appointments for this morning. Sometimes I forget you're a fucking cop."

"And sometimes I forget you're a spitfire with quite a mouth on you," Drasin replies. "You know I'm going to have to check with Stacey to confirm this conversation, right?"

"Oh sure," Spencer says sarcastically. "And why don't you go through my phone records and implant a GPS tracking chip into my skin?"

"Spencer…"

"No, really," She keeps it up. "I'm going to go have a shower, but do you want to check the bathroom first? Make sure my toothbrush really _is_ a toothbrush and not a murder weapon in disguise? Or maybe sit in on my appointments with my patients? Maybe make sure that poor Mrs. Olson, who's sixty-seven and suffering from the loss of her husband of forty years, isn't actually Charles in a mask?"

"Okay, you've made your point," Drasin says. "Next time, answer the door, please."

"Yes, sir."

"And if you have any problems, questions, concerns-"

"You're on speed dial. Always have been. _Goodbye_."

Toby waits until he hears the front door slam shut. Then, he pushes open the closet door and finds Spencer standing there, thumbing through her phone. "I'm so sorry. Give me one second; I've got to get Stacey to cover for me."

"Damn, that guy is good." He remarks. "He must've gone to the Peter Hastings School for Cock Blocking."

Spencer regards him for a moment and her face splits in a grin. She's crossed the room in seconds and they're kissing once more.

As crazy as their situation is, Toby's pretty sure he could get used to this.

* * *

"Oh, I forgot the placemats," Veronica frowns, her arms full of candles and decorative plates. "Toby, would you mind grabbing them? They're in the hall closet upstairs."

He nods obediently amidst the mild chaos. "Sure."

It's Christmas Eve and Veronica's invited extended family for dinner that Toby's never met before, but Spencer's never really gotten along with any of her relatives, so he's eager to get a reprieve from them. Jason's sitting on the couch, completely bored out of his mind and staring off into space, and there are children running around and angry adults arguing over trivial matters that don't concern him. He'll _gladly_ retrieve the placemats if it means he can get the hell out of this living room. Jason shoots him a pointed look and Toby doesn't know what to tell him; getting placemats isn't a two-person job, so it's not like he can ask his roommate to come with. He ascends the stairs and realizes that this is it; now's his chance to peek into Spencer's old bedroom and see what her mother's left behind. It feels like an invasion of privacy and he tells himself he's not going to do it. He grabs the placemats instead. But then his eyes wander down the hall and rest upon Spencer's bedroom door. He can't help himself. He needs to know.

He pushes the door open and his eyes widen at the sight. The amount of time he's spent in here rendered very fond, very specific memories of this room, and yet, looking at it now is like stepping into a brand new locale. The only thing that he recognizes is her wallpaper; everything else is either gone or in boxes scattered all across the room. Toby wanders aimlessly through her room, her entire life encased in the boxes she'd left behind. Branches scratch against her window and Toby glances out momentarily; the "For Sale" sign on the DiLaurentis house has been there for years and, unsurprisingly, no one seems to want it. He shakes his head and finds himself opening a box labeled "Awards." It's full of all the trophies, ribbons and plaques she's earned over her years of excelling at everything. There are a couple other boxes littered around- "Winter Clothes," "School Stuff, "Books and Movies"- but only one has caught his eye, now. There's a box resting on top of the rocking chair he'd made her, a box labeled with only one word- "Toby."

He can't help himself; he opens it. It's full of photographs of the two of them, memorabilia from their relationship and about a dozen or two articles of clothing he hadn't known she'd had. He finds the Valentine's Day card he'd made her and the Scrabble necklace and that old blue shirt she'd treasured, wearing old and thin. Toby has no idea what Veronica's plan is with this room, but for all the talk she's given him about not being able to get over her daughter, she's certainly had no problem ridding the room of all her daughter was. He has to get out of here. Toby grabs the placemats and leaves the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He doesn't know what or how he's going to tell Spencer what had resulted of his latest period of discovery.

He's going to get his chance; on a whim, he decides to spend Christmas with her. After dinner at the Hastings', Toby leaves Jason with the idea that there's been a lead and he has to go _now_. He doesn't even tell Spencer he's coming until he's landed in the airport midway through Christmas day. She tells him that she and Drasin are at Mary Anne's having Christmas dinner and she's going to get back as soon as she can; he tells her not to hurry. He remembers, from last time, where her spare key is, but it isn't in its regular place under the largest seashell on her front porch. Most of the things on her porch look scattered, as though a stiff wind from the latest blizzard had disrupted them, and eventually he finds the key lying beneath some wicker furniture. He lets himself into her house and then balks, in surprise, when he finds very minimal Christmas decoration. There's a wreath on the door and that's all he's found. There isn't even a tree. He's a got a few hours, most likely, and he's going to change that.

It's a little after seven when Spencer gets home and he's waiting there, a grin on his face. She jumps into his arms and kisses him elatedly. In between kisses, she says, "I'm so glad you're here. This is the best surprise."

"I missed you," He tells her. "We had dinner at your house last night and I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Wait," She pulls back a bit, sniffing the air. "It smells like Christmas."

He chuckles. "It _is_ Christmas, so…"

"No, it smells like…" Spencer pulls away from him and heads deeper into the house. When she enters the living room, her eyes widen. "Oh my god, did you do this?"

There's a big, beautiful evergreen Christmas tree, decorated with lights and ornaments and a sparkling tree skirt, right in the middle of the floor. He smiles, nodding, "Yeah. I thought your place needed a little sprucing up. And let me just say, finding a Christmas tree _on_ Christmas? Not easy."

There's a look of pure awe and adoration in her eyes. Then she looks at it, _really_ looks at it, and asks, "Is it fake?"

Toby grins. Busted. "Yes. I told you, finding a tree on Christmas is impossible. Even the smell is fake; did you know you can buy evergreen in a can?"

A delighted laugh erupts from her mouth and she's kissing him again in mere minutes. His stomach is doing somersaults and his heart is full; this is truly the spirit of the season. Later, they're cuddling on the couch with matching mugs of steaming hot cocoa when he admits, "You asked me to look so… I looked."

"At what?"

"Your bedroom," Toby says. "When I was at your house yesterday. Your mom asked for some placemats and I was up there, so…"

Spencer's eyes widen. "And?"

He hesitates and then says, "It looks the same. It was weird being there without you. It's like she's keeping it preserved for you for when you come home."

"That's nice," Spencer smiles, a hand at his cheek. "But how about the truth, now? Just because it's been five years doesn't mean I can't tell when you're lying to me."

He frowns but supposes he can't be too disappointed. He's the one who's brought it up, after all. "It's empty, Spencer. Your bed's gone, your dresser, your red chaise… All of your things are in boxes."

She looks up, suddenly alarmed. "Wait, did she get rid of the rocking chair?"

"No," Toby assures her and she sighs in relief. "It's still there, along with a box of things with my name on it."

"Your name?"

"It's got a bunch of our pictures, cards, things I gave you," He explains. "She's categorizing your whole life."

"She needs to get a grip," Spencer says. "But I guess I can't get too mad at her. I mean, it's been years. Now, all I want to know is whether she actually waited those years or if she started boxing up my stuff the day after I left."

There's a bit of silence before she shakes her head. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"Hey," Toby says, nudging her a bit. "It's Christmas, right? None of this morbid talk."

"You're right," Spencer agrees. "And anyway, I still owe you a gift. You did all of this for me; what can I do for you?"

"Nothing," He assures her. "I already have everything I want."

* * *

The New Year rings in and they still haven't been caught. Spencer's sure this has to be some kind of record.

It's the week after 2018 greets them all and January has brought ice storms and bitter cold to the northeast. Spencer's pretty sure she's never been happier in her whole life than she has been in these past three months with Toby. As much as she wishes they didn't have to do everything in secret, as much as she _hates_ sneaking around and perpetually lying to everyone she knows, she's doing it for her own happiness and sanity and to be frank, she's not used to doing things for herself. She isn't an optimistic person by nature, but with Toby, she begins to believe again. He's ignited that fire within her all over again and she's determined to find a way out of this mess they've created for themselves. But not tonight. Tonight, it's all about them.

"I'm starving," She decides a little after midnight and he chuckles beside her.

"We just ate."

"No," Spencer disagrees. "We had dinner _hours_ ago. Let's make dessert."

"Dessert?" He wonders and has no choice but to follow her to the kitchen, for she tugs on his hand. "What are we going to make?"

"Cookies. Oh, wait, no. Cupcakes," She suggests and then her eyes light up. "Wait. Let's make flan."

"You do know how to make that," Toby chuckles. "And you've never proven it to me."

"Flan it is!" She decides. "Have you ever had it?"

"No, I've only seen it," He tells her. "It's not appealing."

"No, it's really good," She assures him and begins digging through her cabinets. "It's easy to make, too. We only need some sugar, a couple eggs, evaporated and condensed milk and some vanilla extract. Simple."

"So where did you learn how to make flan?" He asks as she lines up the ingredients and hands him a glass mixing bowl. "It's a Mexican dish and you took French."

"And Latin," She corrects him. "And I took two years of Spanish before they made me choose one romance language at a time. Anyway, it was for a seventh grade project. I used to watch those cooking shows after school while I did my homework."

"Why am I not surprised?" Toby rolls his eyes. "I'm going to ask again, is there anything you _can't_ do?"

She thinks a moment before shaking her head. "Probably not."

He chuckles and she grins because his laugh is probably the most delightful sound she's ever heard. After preheating the oven, she measures out the sugar and hands it to him as he pours it into a saucepan on the stove. "So this is the hardest part, honestly. We have to melt it down so it becomes a syrup, and we can't undercook it, because it won't get the right consistency, but we can't overcook it, or it'll just become a charred mess."

"Why don't you handle that, then?" Toby decides, grabbing a whisk and three eggs. "I'll beat the rest of the ingredients."

"Okay," She laughs. "Then we'll pour the syrup into the baking dish and basically layer the rest of the ingredients on top. See? Easy."

"And how long do we bake it for?"

"An hour."

"An hour?" He exclaims. "I thought you were _starving_."

"I am," She grins. "But the best things in life are worth waiting for, right?"

He grins right back. "Right."

Putting the flan together is accomplished in mere minutes and then, they're impatiently waiting as it bakes in the oven beside them. When the dishes are finished and there's nothing left but time, Spencer hops onto the counter and asks, "Still don't believe me?"

"I never thought you were lying," He tells her. "It was just funny to me that the one random food I thought of was something you could actually make."

"I'm more skilled than you take me for," She teases. "I know how to make a slipknot and pitch my own tent, too."

"But you can't change a tire," Toby says and Spencer frowns. "At least, that's what Emily's said."

"Okay, I know _how_ ," She argues. "There are just a lot of steps involved and it was dark and we didn't really have time. Or a carjack. How was I supposed to change a tire without a carjack?"

"Fair point," He says. "What else can you do that I don't know about? Or should I ask what you _can't_ do, if I want a shorter list?"

"Okay, well I can't change my own oil," Spencer says. "I have no idea how to do that, even if we did learn in driver's ed."

"You can't? Spence, that's _so_ simple."

"I don't know how to do simple, around the house stuff, like electrical work or plumbing," She lists. "Because my parents always hired people. I don't know how to operate a table saw. I can't swaddle a baby. I don't know the tricks to finding the cheapest airline tickets. I don't know how to set up a website."

Toby smirks. "This is the most random list of things I've ever heard."

"You asked," She singsongs. "And most importantly, I don't know how to live without you now that you're back in my life. And I don't want to."

"What a coincidence," Toby says. "Neither do I."

She reaches out and pulls at the collar of his shirt, bringing his mouth to hers as he comes to stand between her legs. They're making out heavily and Spencer cannot think of a better way to pass the baking time. In sixty minutes when the timer goes off and longer, still, when the flan has cooled, she cuts them each a piece and Toby comments on how strange it looks; is it a pudding or a custard or some weird combination of both? Neither of them is really sure. The texture is strange, but it tastes as good as always and when she glances expectantly at him, he gives her a spirited thumbs up. It's nearly two a.m. by the time they crawl back into bed, bellies and hearts full, and they snuggle together and fall into a peaceful sleep. His presence is like a security blanket and she holds onto him tightly. She can't let him go.

Toby returns to Philadelphia two days later and Spencer goes back to being Kate. As usual, they both ache with longing for one another and they pass the empty days alone in ways they always do; she texts him lewd and lasciviously intimate messages while he's at work, surrounded by coworkers, and he retaliates when she's listening to the heartbreaking lives of her clients and definitely shouldn't be snickering. Spencer tries to go about her days without looking forward to seeing him again; she checks in with Drasin and has lunch with Mary Anne and goes out with Lauren and Cara like it's any other day. And things are good; they really are. Things are better than they've been in years, and so she really should've expected it. She should have seen it coming, but five years of silence has brought her naiveté back once more. Spencer's coming home from work late one night when her phone jingles in her pocket. The four-word message is from an unknown number and it's unsigned; her heart beats wildly in her chest and blood begins to race within her veins, mixing sinfully with adrenaline.

 _Olly olly oxen free_.


	10. Ten

**Hello all! Hopefully you're all doing wonderfully on this fine Saturday morning. I've got a long day of travel ahead of me (headed back to Orlando after a much-needed week off back home) and I'm not looking forward to it, but I know you guys will make it all better. If there's one thing I've come to understand, it's that I have the best, most loyal readers and reviewers on this planet. You guys rock, seriously. I love you all so much.**

 **This is the beginning of the end, friends! We have four chapters left, not including this one, and we're coming to a close. It's crazy. I'm actually really sad. This story is like my baby and I worked so hard on it. I'll definitely be sad to see it go. But I'm also excited for you to see how it all plays out, too. After all, the Unholy Trinity (that's Red Coat, Black Widow, and -A, obvs) is just chapters away from its big reveal, so that'll be fun. The girls (yes, that's plural) have a few hoops to jump through, first. Get ready! Get set! And thank you for all of your amazing responses. You know I love all of you crazy daisies. See you soon. :)**

* * *

Ten

The four-word message haunts her all night long.

She can't handle the feeling pumping through her veins. It's like every terrible thing that's ever happened to her has come back to taunt her, all at once. It's like being thrown, head first, into a pack of angry, raging wolves. It's like someone's thrown a bag over Kate's head, bound her arms and legs, and tossed her aside, throwing Spencer straight into the limelight; _you can run, but you can't hide_. Not anymore. She can't stop staring at the text; those four little words, what were at once harmless, now remind her of something she'd care not to remember. As a child, hide and seek had been Spencer's favorite game because for everything Melissa was good at, this innocent game hadn't been one of them. She'd curl herself into a little ball and slip, unnoticed, into the smallest of crevices and, when Melissa couldn't find her, she'd shout, in frustration, " _Olly olly oxen free!_ " And Spencer would pop out, a victorious grin on her face, because she'd win, every time. Now, hearing those words make her want to retreat further into her cozy bungalow and shut out the world.

The way Spencer sees it, she has three options, here. The first is that she could tell Drasin and most likely, it's the best one. Drasin's been in charge of her case since day one and he's been the closest one to her since they started. They'd built up a real camaraderie and she's so lucky she's had him to get her through the tough and confusing times. She could bring the text to him and they could break their heads over how to solve a puzzle Charles clearly doesn't want to be solved and that would be that. The only problem is, telling Drasin would mean a sure uprooting and relocation and honestly, as boring as this town could be, she's not exactly ready to leave it. She'll miss her friends and her job and her perfect little house with the endless view of impossibly blue water. It's déjà vu; it's history repeating. If she leaves Casco Bay, people all over the town will wonder what happened to her; in time, they'll ponder whether Kate Wilson had actually existed, had actually been a part of their lives, or if she'd just been a figment of their collective imagination.

Her second option is that she could tell Toby. This one's a bit more dangerous, because technically, she shouldn't be telling Toby anything. They shouldn't even have contact and she's sure telling him Charles has found her would only further complicate their already complicated situation, but it's _Toby_ and she used to be able to tell him everything. She knows he would want to know; he's been in this, with her, since the very beginning, even if he hadn't known it. But telling him seems almost pointless; after all, what could he do about it? He might still be a detective, but if he and his colleagues hadn't caught Charles yet, in these past five, almost five and a half, years, who's to say they'd catch him now? It's a tough blow; Spencer wants to tell him desperately, but she knows it isn't the best way. She knows she shouldn't add even more of a burden to his mind. In time, hopefully they'll return to a place where they'll be able to share their lives again. But it won't be this. It won't be now.

Her third and final option is to keep it to herself and not tell anyone. She likes this option because it means she gets to stay in Casco Bay, blissfully ignorant, and she doesn't have to worry Toby. But she's not going to pretend she doesn't know it's the most dangerous of them all. If this really is Charles and it isn't some elaborate prank, if after all this time he's finally found her, then she knows she's in trouble. And she can't just go about her days, having lobster festivals and sailing Cape Elizabeth and working at the counseling center, with Charles following her every move. The first time almost killed her numerous times; there's no _way_ she can go back to running and fearing for her life, being stalked by faceless figures in black hoodies and receiving horrifying gifts and surprises from her resident stalker. She barely made it out with her life, last time. She doesn't have the energy for another go.

The sun comes up and brings warmth to an icy, mid-January morning. The sky is a crystal clear blue and snow glistens on the beach and seagulls still cry into the brand new day. Spencer's sitting on her couch, cross-legged, as she has been for hours, now. She hadn't slept a single second, agonizing over this decision, and now, the night has passed and morning begs for an answer. If she was still sixteen, still naïve and unable to grasp the full gravity of this situation, she might keep it to herself, she might try to deal with it alone. But she isn't a child, anymore. She's grown up in more ways than one and she knows that there are very few things in life that one can do alone, without asking for a single ounce of help. Dealing with a sociopathic murderer is certainly not one of them. Therefore, when Drasin comes over moments later, knocking on the door and greeting her with a smile as she lets him in, she knows she must tell him. She's an adult now. It's time for her to start acting like one.

"Morning, Spence," He says. "Sleep okay?"

"Not at all, actually," Spencer admits. "I, uh… I have something to tell you."

Drasin immediately dons an expression of concern. "Yeah. Go for it. What's wrong?"

"I had to stay late last night to organize a couple of Dr. Cohen's patient files," Spencer explains. "So I didn't get home until after ten o'clock, probably. Much later than usual. When I got home, I was tired, so I was getting ready to go to bed and I got a text."

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and illuminates the screen, handing it over to him. "I think it's from him."

Drasin's face completely changes and nearly loses all color. "Are you sure?"

"It's from an unknown, blocked number," Spencer says. "And that message is the kind of thing he'd send, believe me."

"I do," Drasin nods, handing her the phone. "Thank you for telling me. You did the right thing."

She nods, too. "Now what?"

"I don't know," He frets and she can tell this is new for him. "None of my charges have _ever_ been contacted by their pursuer. Sit tight; I'm going to have to make a few calls."

Drasin's on his phone before he's even stepped out of the room. She isn't sure what she's supposed to do next, but the rumble of her stomach tells her breakfast is a must. Retreating to the kitchen, Spencer pulls out a frying pan and decides she wants an omelet. Focusing on mundane things, like cracking the eggs and sorting out the yolks and adding cheese, mushrooms and tomatoes, keeps her mind off of Charles and death threats and –A. She's just gotten the pan hot enough and she's just ready to flip the omelet over itself when Drasin returns, determination and war on his mind. Her breakfast is sizzling on the stove and the aroma makes her mouth water and her stomach growl, but she's now focused on him.

"Pack a bag," Drasin orders. "We're going to Philadelphia. _Now._ "

* * *

They're on the next flight out and it feels like it did five years ago when she'd left Spencer behind like a second skin in order to become Kate and yet here she is now, leaving Kate to reassume her life as Spencer. She should've known that happiness and light wouldn't last forever; that her flimsy façade she'd created as Kate Wilson would never truly be the life she'd lead. Maine shrinks below fluffy clouds and when the plane lands an hour and a half later, Pennsylvania welcomes her back like an old friend. There's a tiny flurry of snow swirling in the air around her as she steps out of the airport with Drasin nearly attached to her hip. He's got a gun holstered on his belt and she isn't, really, but she feels like a prisoner. He motions towards an armored van waiting for them and the game goes on and on.

She remembers the last time she'd ridden in one. She'd been utterly broken and distraught over leaving her parents, her best friends, and the love of her life, and she'd watched the lines on the pavement blur together as they raced towards an escape. Today, she's just kind of _there_ ; she doesn't know what to feel or to think, so she doesn't do much of either. Drasin's sitting beside her and he keeps shooting sidelong glances at her as though she'll likely combust at any second. She's not as broken as she once was, but if this doesn't come to an end soon, she could be. The driver is an agent she doesn't recognize, but they end up at the field office where this whole thing began and it gives her an odd sense of nostalgia. They swipe their IDs as usual and lead her to a back conference room, allowing her to sit. She does, pulling off her coat and sinking into a hard plastic chair.

"I know it feels like you're being questioned," Drasin says. "Or like you're in trouble, but I promise you're not. This is just the safest place we can think of to keep you for now."

Spencer shrugs. "Whatever you say."

"You _are_ free to leave. No one's keeping you here," Drasin says and then backpedals just a bit. "I mean, you can't leave the _building_. We need you here until we figure this out, but you can leave the room, walk around a little. There's a break room down the hall with coffee, donuts and bagels and if you wanted to sleep, we can arrange that, too. There are beds in the back."

"I'm okay," Spencer disagrees. "Thanks."

Drasin nods. "I'm sorry."

She looks at him, alarmed. "Sorry for what?"

"I was supposed to keep you safe," Drasin laments. "And here we are again."

"Please. It's not your fault," She shakes her head. "It was only a matter of time."

There's a knock on the door and a familiar face enters the room. Well, a few familiar faces; Lawson comes in with an agent she doesn't know, a detective she doesn't recognize, and Toby. She smiles just a bit when their eyes meet and his seem to soften upon the sight of her. Lawson greets, "Spencer. Good to see you. I'm sorry we've had to meet under these circumstances, but this just means we're one step closer to getting this son of a bitch."

"Yeah," She agrees. "Yeah, I guess so."

"If you wouldn't mind walking me through it," Lawson implores. "I want to know exactly what happened."

"Well, it was kind of simple," Spencer shrugs. "I was out all day, I came home from work and I got the text. It was out of nowhere, but that's the way he's always operated. He gets you when you least expect it."

Lawson nods. "And you hadn't done anything in the recent past to call attention to yourself? Anything that might get you into trouble?"

Her eyes flick to Toby's for just a split second. She remains calm. "No, sir."

"I didn't think so," Lawson shakes his head. "So here's how this is going to work. Unsurprisingly, you are not the only one who's received this text. About an hour ago, just after Agent Drasin called in your situation, I got word from Agent Kellerman that the same text was also sent to Aria Montgomery."

"Robertson also said that Emily Fields has received the text as well," The agent she doesn't recognize confirms. "And I'm sure if you've all received it, then it must have also been sent to Hanna Marin."

Lawson nods. "That has been confirmed, yes."

Just the sound of her best friends' names is enough to spark excitement in her veins. Lawson continues. "As such, we are ordering the expedited return of the other girls to this very location. They should be here within the next few hours."

Her eyes widen. "I get to see my friends again?"

Lawson nods shortly. "You do. What we're going to do is a kind of _Dateline: To Catch a Predator_ -type operation. We're going to utilize one of your cell phone numbers, assume your identity and lure this supposed 'Charles DiLaurentis' into a trap. We're going to catch him without any of you actually being involved."

Spencer can't help herself. She blurts out, "That won't work."

Lawson eyes her. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I just… Charles likes games," Spencer explains. "But he doesn't like games being played on _him_. And he's not stupid; he'd never fall for something so blatantly-"

"So blatantly _what_?" Lawson cuts her off and Spencer's silent.

"Nothing, sir," She shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

Lawson eyes her a moment before saying, "Alright. As for now, make yourself comfortable. It could be a while. The space is yours. Just please don't try and run. Remember what I told you? We'll find you, every time."

He leads his group out of the room and Spencer finds herself frowning as Toby follows obediently. Drasin shakes his head beside her and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't sweat it, Spencer. We'll figure this whole thing out. It'll be alright."

"Yeah but he has no idea what he's dealing with," Spencer exclaims. "Charles isn't going to fall for that. It's ridiculous! You're never going to lure him out like some kind of snake charmer. He's smarter than that. He's not an amateur. That's the reason you haven't caught him yet!"

"Okay," Drasin nods. "But let _us_ handle that. You just sit tight. Don't worry so much."

Spencer scoffs. "Do you even _know_ me?"

Drasin shoots her a grin and shakes his head, standing and heading for the door. "Sit back and relax, Spencer. It'll all be over soon."

Spencer disagrees. "Not the way you're doing it."

Smirking, he opens the door, but just before he can exit, Spencer says, "Sam, wait."

He turns back towards her, all ears. "What's up?"

Her conscience is performing a mutiny and if anyone should know, it should be him. "I lied."

Drasin's eyebrows knit together in concern. "You lied about what?"

"When Lawson asked me if I'd done anything to call attention to myself... I said no." Spencer inhales a deep breath. "That's not true."

He frowns. "What did you do?"

"Um... A couple of months ago, I ran into Toby at Frank and Margaret's place," She confesses. "You know, the diner on 5th and Water, with the really good-"

"Yeah, Spencer, I know about the diner," He cuts her off. "Tell me about Toby."

"They got a lead and he was there and..." She trails off, allowing him to connect the dots. "We weren't thinking. And when it came time to say goodbye again... We couldn't do it."

"Never mind the fact that it put _both_ of you in danger?" He asks, his tone scolding.

Spencer's eyes lower. "At the time, it seemed worth it."

"And was it? Is it, still?"

"Yes," Spencer finds herself saying and Drasin sighs. "Don't tell me that if you got a second chance, you wouldn't take it. You and I both know you would."

He says nothing and her suspicions are confirmed. "My situation's different than yours."

"Still."

"Lucky for you," Drasin comments. "Lawson has reason to believe that Charles has known your and your friends' locations for a while, now. I don't think your error in judgment or your contact with Detective Cavanaugh caused this, but it certainly didn't help."

"Wait, he does?" Spencer asks. "How? Why?"

"Apparently, they found a cellphone in an old warehouse in Portland," Drasin shrugs. "Whomever bought this cellphone connected it to the wireless provider back in August and it was shown connecting to a network just outside... I don't know why I'm telling you this."

Spencer smirks. "Because we tell each other everything."

"Yeah, apparently not."

It's her turn to sigh. "You know I couldn't. And I'm sorry, I really am."

Drasin eyes her. "Are you sure about that one?"

"Well," Spencer amends her statement. "I'm sorry I lied about it. I'm not sorry I did it."

His eyes remain locked with hers and then, after a beat, he cracks a smile. "There's the Spencer I know and love. You're really something, you know that?"

She chances a laugh. "Yeah, I've been told."

"I've changed my mind. You're not allowed to leave this room." He heads for the door again. "I don't trust you. Stay here. For the love of God, we don't need you in any more trouble."

"Promise," Spencer nods. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a Scout!"

"Kate was!"

"You're not Kate, anymore," Drasin says and it feels strange, but it's true. "Welcome home, Spencer."

The door swings shut between them and she's left alone. Her phone's on the table before her and it remains silent. She's got nothing else to focus on, now. The words are still there in the forefront of her mind; _olly olly oxen free_. Somehow, she doesn't understand and it makes perfect sense; _come out, come out, wherever you are!_ After a long beat of silence, there's another knock on the door and she glances up, startled, but instantly relaxes. It's Toby and he's brought her a cup of coffee and a bagel. She could kiss him just for thinking of her. "Hey. I'm sorry; I couldn't get away sooner. They're really freaking out over this."

"It's okay," She says, accepting her gifts as her stomach growls hungrily. "I'm starving. Thank you."

"You're welcome," He smiles and takes the seat in front of her as she tears into her bagel. "You should've told me he texted you."

"I'm not supposed to be telling you _anything_ , remember?" Spencer says, nodding towards the mirror on the wall behind him. "Are we being watched?"

Toby shakes his head. "No. Nobody cares about us when there's a sociopath on the loose."

"Even still," Spencer shrugs. "If I told you, what could you have done?"

"I would've done _something_."

"Like what?"

After a beat, he sighs. "I don't know."

"Exactly," She says. "We should've known all along."

"Hey," He states, taking one of her hands in his. "We're one step closer to figuring this thing out."

"Yeah, but you heard the way they want to do it," Spencer says. "And you _know_ Charles and you know that won't work."

Toby sighs. "Yeah. I know."

"The only way this is going down is in some big, elaborate showdown," Spencer tells him. "That's the way it was destined to end from the beginning. We can't do it their way or we'll always be one step behind, grasping at straws."

"I'm not saying I disagree with you," Toby says. "But what are we going to do about it?"

"Ask me after I've finished this," Spencer requests, sipping her coffee. "Because I'm running on neither food nor sleep; I need sustenance before I can hatch an idea."

He grins and then asks, "How are you? Really? Because you don't seem as shaken up as I thought you might be."

"I'm okay, actually," Spencer replies. "It freaked me out when I first got it, but call me crazy, but I was actually _excited_ to come back here. I'm excited to see the girls again. I'm almost excited that he texted us in the first place."

Toby dons a look of confusion, asking, "Why?"

"Because," She states simply. "For the first time, I think he wants it to be over just as much as we do."

He processes her words a moment before asking, "What did he text you?"

She asks, surprised, "You don't know?"

"I'm basically just here to do their dirty work," Toby confesses. "When you're not _actually_ in the FBI, you don't actually get any of the information."

She nods in understanding. "Olly olly oxen free."

He deadpans, "What?"

"That's what he texted me- olly olly oxen free," And to his confused look, she elaborates, "It's a phrase used most commonly in hide and seek. It indicates that players who are in hiding can come out and that the game is officially over."

Toby shakes his head. "That's creepy."

"Yeah, well," Spencer smiles ruefully. "That's Charles."

He toys with her fingers a little before asking, "So what about us?"

Spencer frowns. "What do you mean?"

"When all of this is over," Toby indicates. "What does that mean for you and I? Where do we go from here?"

"Well," She thinks for a moment. "I told you once that you were my once upon a time, right?"

Toby smiles. "Yeah."

"When this is all over," Spencer speaks candidly. "I think it's about time we got our happily ever after."

* * *

Spencer's sure it's been mere minutes, but it feels like it's been hours since she was first brought in here and she's absolutely bored out of her mind. There isn't really anything for her to do other than stare at the wall; she's played a hundred and one rounds of Solitaire and Candy Crush and 2048 on her phone, but even that's gotten boring after a while. Toby checks in on her when he can and she always wishes he could stay longer, but she knows he's busy trying to solve the impossible case. She wonders what's happening back home- which is a weird thought because she's in Pennsylvania now, so technically she _is_ home- in Casco Bay; are Dr. Cohen and her friends missing her? Are her clients' sessions all going to get canceled? She's pretty much disappeared without a trace; it's likely that _someone_ is going to worry.

The door to the conference room opens slowly a moment later and it snaps Spencer from her reverie. An unfamiliar agent enters first and nods in greeting as Spencer does the same. He holds his hand out, motioning for someone to continue, and then Spencer's heart nearly stops. Aria Montgomery enters the room and her eyes are immediately wide the moment she lays them on Spencer. The latter cannot believe her own; her petite friend looks mostly the same and still somehow vastly different. Her hair's much lighter and her outfit seems much too _normal_ for Aria, but then again, since Spencer's spent the last few years being someone else, she understands that Aria has not exactly been Aria after all.

"Oh my god," Spencer says, still unable to believe this is truly happening. "Oh my god, I can't believe you're here."

"Spencer!" Aria exclaims and the girl in question is out of her seat in minutes. "Oh my god!"

They embrace giddily and Spencer finds herself finally confronting just how much she'd truly missed her friend. When they pull back, Aria says, "Your hair is so cute! I love how short it is!"

"Mine? Look at yours!" Spencer says. "You're _blonde!_ "

"Blonde-ish," Aria says. "Believe it or not, it only needed a little help from the bottle. This is mostly from the sun!"

"The sun?" Spencer implores. "Where have you been?"

"Florida," Aria replies. "Miami, more specifically. I've been living off of Cuban food and I learned to salsa dance and I speak fluent Spanish, now. I don't even know who I am."

Spencer grins. "Florida must have been nice, though. I bet coming back to this cold wasn't fun."

"Oh my god, five and a half years in Florida has made my blood _so_ thin," Aria agrees. "I almost froze to death getting off the plane."

They share a laugh and Aria asks, "But what about you? Where have you been?"

"Casco Bay, in Maine. I don't know if you've ever been there," Spencer says and when Aria shakes her head, she elaborates. "It's a sleepy, sailing, lobster town. It's beautiful but ultimately uneventful. Still better than Rosewood, any day."

"Oh, well what isn't?" Aria agrees. "So you got the text too, huh? Seems our little friend wants to come out and play again."

"How convenient of him," Spencer says. "Just when I felt like I was finally over him."

"He always knows just when to swoop in and ruin everything," Aria shakes her head. Spencer agrees wholeheartedly.

"So, I'm afraid to ask, but," Spencer starts. "Are you married? Or at least involved seriously with anyone?"

"Oh god no," Aria shakes her head. "I'm not ready for marriage. And I definitely can't commit to anyone when _I_ don't even know who I am."

"Oh you don't? I sure do." Spencer teases, extending her hand in introduction. "Meet Kate Wilson, grief counselor in training and the ultimate girl next door."

"Nice to meet you, Kate," Aria chuckles, shaking her hand. "I'm Madison Conway, entrepreneur extraordinaire."

Spencer scrunches her nose. "You don't look like a Madison."

Aria agrees, "You don't look like a Kate."

They sink into chairs beside one another and catch up, desperate to make up for lost time. In the middle of their deep conversation, Emily enters the scene and they embrace and Spencer feels like her heart could burst with excitement. She's missed these girls so incredibly much. They hear all about Emily's life in Seattle, where she was posing as a girl named Lila Carson ("That _so_ doesn't suit you," Aria tells her. "You don't look like a star-child hippie.") and a general retailer at a fish market. And just when they think it can't get any better, Hanna is the last to arrive; hail, hail, the gang's all here. She's been in San Diego as a librarian by the name of Olivia Bennett and all the girls find this detail mildly hilarious. They talk and hug and catch up and it's just like old times. It's almost as if no time has passed at all.

After a while, Emily glances around and asks, "Wait, where's Alison?"

And only then do the others realize that the mysterious fifth member of their group is noticeably absent. Hanna comments, "Knowing Ali, she's waiting to make some grand entrance."

"Yeah," Aria agrees, grinning. "She'll probably show up all, 'Did you miss me?' like she always does."

There's a knock on the door and Spencer says, "And there she is."

But instead of Alison, Lawson enters the room and his face is somewhat grave. "Girls, I'm glad to see you've gotten the chance to become reacquainted with one another."

Emily chances again, "Where's Alison?"

"As you know, each and every one of you has had an agent that's stuck close to you throughout this entire journey," Lawson says. "We've reached out to each of your agents and they've brought you here in an effort to keep you all safe as we attempt to finally capture your perpetrator."

"Is this a fancy way of saying Ali's not coming?" Hanna asks and Lawson sighs.

"Yes, Hanna, I'm afraid so," He goes on. "All our attempts to reach Agent Welsh, the agent on Alison's case, have fallen short. About two hours ago, we retrieved his body from a dumpster near Alison's apartment. Alison is nowhere to be found."

The girls' eyes are wide. Spencer wonders, "But you'll find her, right?"

"We have reason to believe that wherever Charles is now, he's got Alison with him," Lawson says. "This has just escalated into a much more dangerous situation than we once thought. At the moment, we're attempting to get into contact with him and further our plans for the safe retrieval of your friend and the incarceration of this sociopath. Please remain calm. We've got this under control."

He nods and exits. The girls are left in silence. Hanna's the first to break it, as always. "Okay, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"He's sweating," Aria says. "He has _no_ idea what to do next."

"His plan is _ridiculous_ ," Spencer shares. "Earlier, he said he wanted to lure Charles out with bait like he's some kind of difficult pet."

"That's not going to work," Emily shakes her head and Spencer agrees.

"Exactly," She counters. "We have to figure out a way out of this building so we can get to him ourselves. There's no way he's going down without a fight and I don't know about you, but I'm ready for one."

"Okay," Aria nods. "But how are we ever going to do that? I mean, we're basically on lockdown."

"I've been thinking about it all day," Spencer says. "We're in the FBI field office but there are officers who are on this case that aren't FBI agents. If we get their help, we're not actually going against the FBI, are we?"

"Yes, we are!" Hanna disagrees. "And who's going to agree to help us go against the police, anyway? That's suicide, for us and them."

"Toby can put a team together," Spencer says. "There's got to be someone he knows that's willing to-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Emily stops her and only then does Spencer realize where she slipped up. "Toby's still here? He's still a cop? Have you seen him?"

"Is he okay?" Aria wonders. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah… Yeah, no, we saw each other earlier." Spencer nods quickly. "It was good."

They're not buying it. Aria asks, "Spence, you haven't seen each other in five years and your reunion was just 'good'?"

Emily adds, "What are you keeping from us?"

"Yeah, spill," Hanna urges. "You're obviously lying."

"Okay, but _don't_ hate me," Spencer pleads. "We ran into each other on accident back in November and we've been secretly seeing each other ever since."

"Wait, are you _serious_?" Emily asks. "That's so dangerous, Spencer!"

"Yeah, what the hell?" Aria chastises. "That could've put you both in serious danger!"

"I'm sorry, okay? I slipped," Spencer confesses. "He was there on a tip about Charles and we bumped into each other. It's not like I went looking for him. And what was I supposed to do after that? Pretend I hadn't seen him? Move on?"

"Yes," Emily and Aria exclaim simultaneously.

Hanna disagrees. "Okay, get off her ass. I would've done the _same_ thing if I'd run into Caleb."

"Thank you, Han," Spencer says and Hanna shakes her head.

"That doesn't mean I don't think it's _stupid_ ," Hanna replies. "But it just seems like something I'd do and not you."

"Well, love makes people do stupid, crazy things, okay?" Spencer exclaims. "Now can we get off of that and figure out what we're going to do next?"

They're not over it. Aria wonders, "How did you hide it for three months?"

"Pretty well," Spencer answers. "Since no one ever found out."

"Didn't you have an agent watching you, like, all the time?"

"Yeah, but he trusts me."

"Maybe a little too much."

"Okay, for real, leave her alone," Hanna says. "We need to figure out what we're doing about Charles."

And as if on cue, all four of their phones vibrate with life and it's just like old times. Emily's the first to open hers, but there's no message. It's an audio clip, instead. Hanna and Aria have received the same message; it's clunky and slow, although trying to be upbeat. It sounds like it's emanating from a music box and it's so familiar but none of the girls can quite place their fingers on it. Aria wonders, "I feel like I know this song. But what is it?"

"Mine's different," Spencer says and when she opens her audio clip, their creepy, chiming song suddenly has words. A young boy is singing it.

" _Hey, hey, oh playmate, come out and play with me. And bring your dollies three; climb up my apple tree. Slide down my rainbow; into my cellar door. And we'll be jolly friends; forever more!_ "


	11. Eleven

**Good morning, friends! See? I'm not dead! I'm very much alive and well and present. I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. Honestly, it's because I was editing these last few chapters (and I'm still not done, ugh) and I lost track of time. Then I got distracted and bored and played The Sims 3 like all day yesterday. It's fine. It was totally necessary and I'm an awesome adult (please read this with the utmost level of sarcasm- that's who I am).**

 **Anyway, as always I completely and thoroughly appreciate your feedback and your amazing reviews. I love you all so much. And I hope you've missed the girls' shenanigans and I hope you're ready for some, because they're on their way. Yeah. Cool. Anyway, I'm procrastinating. See how well I buy time? :P You are all exotic sea turtles and I hope you enjoy! Thanks!**

* * *

Eleven

 _Hey, hey, oh playmate._

"What the hell?" Emily exclaims as the tinkering song continues.

"It's an invitation," Spencer says. "He knows we're coming after him."

 _Come out and play with me. And bring your dollies three. Climb up my apple tree_.

"He wants us to," Aria concludes. "That's messed up. What is wrong with this guy?"

"What's right with him?" Hanna asks. "This invitation is great and all, but how are we supposed to find him?"

 _Slide down my rainbow. Into my cellar door._

"I'm sure he'll send us some sort of clue," Aria replies. "He never falls short in that area."

"But we still don't know how we're supposed to get out from under our watchful eye," Emily says. "I mean, we are literally inside the FBI field office. We're in the Witness Protection Program. As far as anyone out here knows, Emily doesn't exist."

"Oh, you want to give up?" Hanna taunts. "You want to go back to selling fish as Lila?"

"I didn't say that," Emily snaps. "I just think it's useless to try and go after him. If they haven't found him in five years, what makes you think we're going to find him now?"

 _And we'll be jolly friends. Forever more!_

"Because he seems like he _wants_ to be found," Hanna says and then turns on the brunette beside her. "Spencer, will you turn that _off?_ "

"I'm sorry!" Spencer exclaims and mutes her phone. "It's a clue. The song's a clue."

"A clue for what?" Hanna asks curiously and Emily groans.

"I can't _do_ this again!" She cries. "Everything's a clue, we're running for our lives, there's death at every turn… It's exhausting."

"It's the only way to end this," Spencer argues and Emily shakes her head.

"We're not going to get to go back to what it was," Emily says and Aria sighs.

"Em, we can't just let this go," She reasons. "And turning on each other is exactly what he wants."

"It's a clue," Spencer repeats. "'Bring your dollies three?' He was obviously talking about you guys."

"Can we redefine the term 'obviously'?" Hanna suggests and Spencer shoots her a look.

"The song lists all the things you have to do to get to him, in order to find him," She explains. "He's sending us on a scavenger hunt."

"A scavenger hunt?" Aria wonders. "Of what?"

"I don't know," Spencer shrugs. "Of –A's greatest hits."

"That makes _no_ sense."

"No, it does. Think about it; it's brilliant," Spencer exclaims. "He's sending us back to where this began on a trip through all of the terrible messages he's sent us? And we'll surely find some kind of clue or something on where to find him along the way. He likes games. This whole thing… _Of course_ he'd do this."

"So where do we even start?" Aria asks.

Spencer bites her lip. "Well… We should probably figure out a way to get out of here."

"And get back to Rosewood," Hanna adds and when the others groan, she continues, "Hey, Rosewood is where this all started, right? So if he's really sending us back through his minefield on memory lane, Rosewood is where this is going to end."

"Cool, but Rosewood is forty-five minutes away and we have no way of getting there," Emily says. "Not to mention the four of us no longer exist to that town. Or, the government in general."

"Will you get off that little detail?" Hanna frowns. "It's all just a matter of paperwork."

"Oh yeah? Just paperwork? So the fact that we spent _five years_ being other people means literally nothing, now? Now that he's back, calling the shots?" Emily growls. "Listen, we are _not_ sixteen anymore. I don't know where your rational thought is, but we're adults and we can't just go gallivanting around, chasing -A texts and getting threatened without telling anyone."

"We're going to tell someone," Spencer insists. "I have a plan."

"Of course," Emily frowns. "You _always_ have a plan. Remind me, when have any of your plans actually worked?"

"Well I don't see any of _you_ coming up with a plan!" Spencer replies hotly. "If we let the FBI handle this, it will never be over!"

"Alright, sure. So we'll go back to Rosewood and then what?" Emily wonders. "Run around like chickens with our heads cut off and without any protection?"

"What do you want to do?" Hanna asks. "Cart some pepper spray? Tote a gun around?"

Emily shrugs. "At least I know how to use one."

"We're wasting time!" Spencer says. "I don't have a gun for you, Emily, so-"

"We're in the FBI field office, Spencer," Emily points out. "You think they don't have guns?"

"Oh, sure, Em! They're just lying around for anyone to grab!"

"Hey, stop," Aria halts them. "We're doing this. We don't have a choice. We have to get Ali back."

"And end this," Hanna says. "For good."

Emily purses her lips. "So where do we even start?"

"I don't know," Spencer shrugs. "I guess we should go find Toby."

They gather their phones and leave the conference room behind and oddly, no one even gives them a second glance. It seems they aren't actually prisoners and have free will, after all. They begin to navigate through the unfamiliar hallways and duck their heads into different offices, but Toby's nowhere to be found. All around them, phones are ringing off the hook and agents are racing about frantically and papers are being strewn about, flying through the air. It's utter chaos and Spencer suddenly has a feeling of dread; Toby's probably hard at work and the last thing he needs is her nonsensical life interfering again. It isn't the first time she's been torn with this decision, and if she and the girls don't end this today, it most likely won't be the last. However, just when she's about to call it off and figure a way out of this without him, they spot him behind a desk in the corner of the room.

Toby glances up and does a double take, a warm smile coming over his face as he comes face to face with three people he hasn't seen in years. There's disbelief in his eyes as he stands and embraces Emily in a hug, Hanna next in line, and last but not least, Aria. It makes Spencer's heart so incredibly full to see him so happy to embrace her friends, but more importantly, to see her friends so happy to embrace him. For everything they'd put him through a lifetime ago, when they were different people, he deserves the world and yet, he's never asked for nor expected it. Their quiet yet sincere apology and acceptance has always been enough for him and it's just one more thing she can add to the list of why Toby Cavanaugh is the most honorable man she knows.

"Let me guess," Toby says after all the hugs are doled out. "You've had your coffee and now you have a plan."

"Yeah," She grins. "You know me well."

"Always have," He comments and she knows that's true. "Is this something that's going to get us both in trouble?"

"Of course," Spencer replies. "There's no way for us do this safely and still get to him. He's made sure of that."

Toby frowns. "There's no way I'm letting you guys do this alone."

"I know. Because I know _you_ and I knew you were going to say that," Spencer tells him. "But I have an idea."

From there, she lists every little detail of her master plan and it's been so long, but the role suits her; it fits like a glove. The girls are hanging on her every word and Toby's just slightly uneasy, but considering he actually has involvement this time, she knows he won't complain _too_ much. When she's finished, Toby says, "I don't know about this."

"Do you have a bad feeling, like last time?" Spencer wonders and, like déjà vu, her old mantra comes back to her. _I'll listen to you. I promise_.

"No, but…" He trails off.

"Toby, we don't have a choice," Emily says. "He has Ali. We have to _move_."

"Okay," He says warily. "I can't say I like it, but-"

"But it's the only thing I can think of that doesn't tip Charles off that we're involved with the FBI," Spencer replies. "And doesn't cause you to lose your job for helping us."

"I don't care about my job; I can always get another one of those," Toby waves it off, unimportant. "I care about you. I need you guys to stay safe."

"And we will," Spencer assures him. "Because you're going to rat us out."

Toby asks, unsure, "Are you sure that's what you want? For me to just… tell on you?"

"Yes. You heard what Lawson said, right?" Spencer probes. "'If you run, we'll find you, every time.'"

"If we run to Charles," Hanna adds. "They'll find Charles."

Toby's still hesitant, but he nods. "Okay. If you think this will work."

"It will," Spencer nods. "Now how do we get out of here?"

He nods towards the back of the room and they follow him through a door, down an elevator and towards a long hallway. There's a glass door at the end and this must be their escape. The girls head outside first, but Spencer holds back, in a moment of weakness. "Give us an hour head start, okay?"

"From now or from when you get to Rosewood?" Toby asks. "Because it's going to take you almost an hour just to get there."

"That can be your call," Spencer says. "Stick to the plan, Toby, and this will work. I believe in this."

"I'm not sure if I do," Toby tells her. "But I believe in you."

She smiles gratefully at him and confesses, "I'm refusing to believe this won't work because I _need_ this to be over."

"That being said, I need you to be careful," Toby says and glances around to be sure they aren't being watched. "You have to have some way to protect yourself."

Spencer purses her lips. "I can see why you and Emily were such great friends. You think alike."

Something cold and metallic is pushed into her palms and her eyes widen as he says, "Take this. Please. I don't trust Charles isn't armed so I need you girls to be."

"Toby..." She's shaking her head fast, the gun fumbling in her hands. "I can't... What will you have to protect _yourself_ if I take this?"

"I'm a cop, Spence," He says. "You think I only have one gun?"

Still, she stares down at the instrument, her hands trembling. "I don't know how to use it."

"Yes you do," Toby refutes. "You could probably diffuse a bomb if you tried."

She chuckles nervously, her heart pounding. "Just aim and pull the trigger, right?"

"Make sure the safety's off," Toby nods. "Only if you have to."

She nods too, accepting her fate, and slips it into the waistband of her jeans, out of sight. "Okay."

"Be safe, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

"I can't promise that," Spencer shakes her head and at his frown, she hastily adds, "But I'll try."

She steps forward and kisses him and it's like their lives depend on it, with the ferocity he's kissing back. They shouldn't be doing this; not here, not where any one of his colleagues could find them. But it's not as though she can exactly help herself. There's concern and adoration and conflict in his eyes, but she kisses them all away; that usual peaceful blue giving way to a stormy and dark cobalt instead. Truth is, he has every right to be irritated with her or frustrated with her inane stubbornness; five years has done nothing to cease this nature within her. But she just hopes that, for once, this plan will go accordingly and everything will be worth it in the end. After all, hope may breed eternal misery, but for once, that's all she's got.

They pull away and she strokes his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs and she cannot go one more second without saying it. She whispers, "I love you."

And his smile is saccharine and slow, his eyes soften, and it's like they're sixteen all over again when he says, "I wanted to say that first."

Spencer chuckles, kisses him chastely one last time, and then she's gone.

* * *

She's not proud of how they get to Rosewood and if Toby could see her now, it would do nothing but instigate another argument. They're crammed in the back of a minivan and the driver and his passenger seem like they're okay, but there's really no way to tell. This isn't safe. This isn't "being careful"; it's the exact opposite. Spencer's on edge the entire ride and she's mentally kicking herself, her mantra of _I'll listen to Toby. I'll listen, I promise_ already getting shot to hell. She supposes they didn't really have another option; hotwire a squad car, hitchhike or walk- they chose the one in the middle, because it seemed like the lesser of three evils. Yes, it's dangerous, and yes, they should be very, very wary to trust _anyone_ these days, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And if worse comes to worst, Spencer thinks ruefully, she's always got her new mode of protection strapped to her waist. She hates this; she hates what she's become. She hates what Charles has made her. But in under an hour, they make it to Rosewood in one piece and give the couple all the money in their collective pockets and as they're facing the town of their birth, the town of their worst nightmares, they all receive their next text.

 _Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be so hard. Oh, take me back to the start. –A_

"Coldplay? Really?" Hanna rolls her eyes. "If you're trying to be menacing, why not reference AC-DC or Metallica or something?"

"Because 'The Scientist' is a classic," Aria says. "Come on, tell me you didn't listen to that song when you were going through a breakup. It went really well with trashy magazines and Ben and Jerry's."

"Uh, no, I'll pass. Not even when I'm at my lowest would you catch me listening to Coldplay."

"Not even 'Fix You'? That song fucks me up."

"Not even if I were going deaf and that was the very last thing I'd ever-"

"Guys, this argument is invalid," Spencer stops them. "Can we decode –A's message without starting World War III?"

"'Take me back to the start'," Emily quotes. "So… Where this all began?"

Aria nods her agreement. "Where were we when we got our first text?"

"About to get charged for petty theft," Hanna says. "You know, there have been _so_ many of those stupid messages and yet I still remember that first one, word for word. 'Be careful, Hanna. I hear prison food makes you fat.' Bitch."

"Okay, but that was Mona," Emily points out. "You can't even blame Charles for that."

"Oh, watch me."

"The church," Spencer says suddenly and the girls glance at her questioningly. "It was after Ali's funeral when we got our first text. That's got to be the start, right?"

"'I'm still here bitches," Aria quotes. "'And I know everything.' How could we forget?"

"I guess we're headed to the church then," Emily decides. "Let's go."

Rosewood looks exactly the same as it had five and a half years ago when they'd last left it. In fact, there's nothing to indicate that anything tragic had ever happened there at all. As the girls walk briskly down the street, Lucky Leon's and The Brew and the Apple Rose Grille are all still standing, still greeting customers and serving up favorites. People are stopping to smile and speak with others on the street and a crossing guard leads a handful of squealing children out of the school as the dismissal bell rings. There's a sign right in the middle of the square with all the details for the upcoming annual winter carnival and, as they approach that old church, the bell tolls with the hour and sends a shiver up Spencer's spine. She'll never forget the horrors she'd endured here, but it seems the town has. Rosewood has erased every last indication of tragedy just as it had erased the four of them.

A thought occurs to Spencer, then, and she pulls Hanna aside as Aria and Emily pull ahead. "Hey. Thanks, Han, for earlier. About Toby. I mean, I get that they were mad, but-"

"But they don't get it," Hanna shakes her head. "I do. They didn't have a Toby. Emily had a slew of people she never really connected with and Aria? Come on. Ezra? _Really?_ "

Spencer says, "I appreciate it."

"It was dumb, Spencer, but they should cut you some slack," Hanna shrugs. "If I had a dollar for every stupid thing _I_ did during these five years... Ooh. Honestly, I could write a novel."

Curiously, Spencer asks, "In an effort to get over Caleb?"

Hanna shakes her head, frowning. "You won't relate."

"To what? To forcing yourself to move on?" Spencer wonders. "Believe me, I will. I _tried_."

"Really? With how many guys?" Hanna implores. "How many before you hated yourself?"

She thinks of Danny's hands on her thighs, of how quickly she'd turned him down, and realizes Hanna had done the opposite; she'd steamrolled ahead and wallowed in disgust while Spencer refused and drowned in grief. "Okay... Maybe I won't."

"Didn't think so," Hanna sighs. "If I see him again... God, he won't even be able to look at me."

"Hanna," Spencer shakes her head. "That's not true. You know he thinks the world of you. He always has."

"Easy for you to say," Hanna says. "Look, I missed him _so_ much and I loved him desperately and do you know how terrible of a combination that is?"

Spencer nods easily. "Yes. Believe me, yes I do."

"Okay, so you might have handled it better than I did," Hanna says and Spencer privately disagrees. "I did everything I could to try and forget him; to try and fill that void. And you know what it did instead?"

"It made the hole even bigger," Spencer finishes and Hanna balks, unsuspecting.

"Wait, yes," She nods. "You _do_ relate."

"I told you I did," Spencer says. "Look, I couldn't go as far as you did. But don't think that I judge you for it. I don't. Caleb won't either. I'm betting you can work things out whenever it is that you see him."

Hanna bites her lip. "You think so?"

"Hey, if Toby and I can make it work, so can you guys," Spencer says. "You've just got to have a little faith."

Hanna smiles. "Thank you. There's a reason I told you and not Aria or Emily."

"They wouldn't understand," Spencer echoes, wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders and bringing her in for a hug. "They've never had a Caleb."

They share a chuckle as the four girls reach the threshold of the church. Aria states, "Well... Here we are."

"Yeah, now what?" Hanna asks, shaking her head clear of her previous thoughts as they climb the steps and pull open the mahogany door.

"We're looking for whatever it is he's trying to get us to find," Spencer says. "A slip of paper or a notepad or something."

"Or, knowing him," Aria counters. "A doll predicting the fate of our loved ones if we don't comply with his terms."

"Again, that was Mona."

"And again, let's not speak ill of the dead here, shall we?" Hanna frowns. "They're both psychotic, they're both –A. Let's just find whatever it is he's left us and-"

"Got it," Emily shouts a second later. It's a tiny piece of paper, clearly torn from a much larger sheet, reading, _You want her?_

"Who? Ali?" Hanna asks and Spencer rolls her eyes.

"Obviously," She replies. "This is hardly a clue; it's just him taunting us, as usual."

"Baby steps, Spence," Aria says. "He clearly wants us to play this stupid game in order to have any chance of finding her."

As they're leaving the church, they receive their next set of directions in a smattering of texts. Aria's first, " _Oh what fun! You've found clue one_."

" _But what will you do_ ," Hanna then reads. " _For clue number two?_ "

" _One of you girls isn't strong like the others_ ," Spencer continues. " _It's neither the blonde nor the ones with brothers_."

" _Let's build you up; what do you say?_ " Emily concludes. " _Breakfast? It's the most important meal of the day._ "

"Cute," Aria says sarcastically. "But what the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?"

"Yeah, I don't know," Spencer shakes her head. "This one's completely stumped me."

"It's at Rosewood High," Emily replies. "The next clue. In the cafeteria."

"What?" Spencer exclaims. "How did you get that out of those cryptic texts?"

"Because," Emily explains. "One of the first messages I ever got from –A was how the weakest link was the easiest to break. It came in a box of cereal I was eating at school. It was Alpha-Bits with all the letters except for A picked out."

Spencer exhales. "Genius. That's genius."

"A sick form of genius, but genius," Hanna nods. "Let's get over there before they lock up the school for the night."

Rosewood High still smells like processed cafeteria food and dry-erase markers. It's a scent they'd never expected to smell again; when they'd walked out of that last day of high school, they _never_ wanted to return. And yet, here they are; they're walking through the halls and passing their old lockers and classrooms and they feel an odd combination of nostalgia and longing. There are still teachers bustling about in their classrooms, adding things to briefcases and erasing the remnants of a lesson on blackboards, so the girls duck out of sight and down the hall towards the cafeteria. It's a ghost town; it smells like ketchup and the walls echo with gossip and they can hear the industrial-sized dishwasher in the back, but it's thoroughly empty. And right smack dab in the middle of the vending machine is a slip of paper with a scarlet letter on it, waiting for them.

 _I'm thinking_.

"'I'm thinking'?" Hanna exclaims. "Cool, so am I. I'm thinking this stupid game is useless and it's a complete waste of our time!"

"This is part of the game," Spencer then realizes. "It's a puzzle; a word scramble."

"What?"

"Why?"

"Oh come on, you thought he'd give us the clues in order?" Spencer says. "Please, that's not his style. So we're going to keep going, we're going to get all the pieces of his message and then we'll have to put it together like a puzzle."

"Why do I get the feeling you're actually enjoying this?" Emily asks and Spencer shrugs.

"Because she is," Aria chuckles. "Come on, you think five and a half years took the nerd out of her? Not even remotely possible."

"Okay, leave me alone," Spencer replies defensively. "I don't condone Charles' behavior in the _slightest_ , but at least he's making the journey a memorable one."

"Yeah, and I'm sure they always feed pigs and cows tasty treats before they slaughter them," Hanna comments. "Come on."

And before long, they receive further instructions. It's a simple message that reads, _Let's play dress up, you and me. And that's how you'll find clue number three_.

"I don't know what the hell that means." Hanna frowns and Aria sighs in frustration.

"Hanna, are you going to say that after every single text?"

"Unless he stops being cryptic, _yeah!_ "

Emily wonders, "When did we play dress up with –A?"

Spencer thinks for a moment before it comes to her. "The fashion show Ali's mom threw for her. We were wearing her dresses and –A crashed and ruined the dedication, remember?"

"So we have to go to the convention center?" Hanna complains. "That's on the opposite side of town!"

"Then we better hurry," Spencer says. "Wherever Charles is, he still has Alison."

"And after all he's done to us and everyone else," Emily says. "I highly doubt they're having a congenial chat."

* * *

It's exactly an hour to the minute since the girls had left when Toby finds Lawson and attempts to bring this to his attention. "Agent Lawson-"

"Not now, Cavanaugh," Lawson waves him off. "We're dealing with very pressing matters here."

"Sir," Toby urges. "It's about the girls."

"This whole damn case is about the girls," He growls, stressed. "We've just put a profile together for this supposed perpetrator and if you'll _excuse me_."

He steps around Toby, towards two other agents. Persistent, Toby follows him. "But sir-"

"Agent Reilly," Lawson booms instead. "Where is my blood sample?"

"In the files here, sir," Reilly replies, handing over a manila folder. "The sample you collected from that warehouse in Maine indicates that the suspect is mostly likely a Caucasian male in his late twenties, possibly early thirties."

Though this should be good news, the advances of modern forensic science, after all, Lawson frowns. "That profile suits most of the criminals we've incarcerated. Anything else?"

Toby, stubbornly, tries again. "Sir-"

"We picked up two partial fingerprints on the cell phone you've recovered," Reilly says. "Likely they've been rubbed against a fabric and distorted or the suspect was wearing latex or leather gloves. Simone's got those reports."

"Agent Lawson, please, if you would just-"

Ignoring Toby still, Lawson turns towards his next agent in line. "Simone? The fingerprints?"

"Well, one is Agent Bolton's, because she'd touched it without _her_ gloves on," Simone details and Lydia, beside her, colors immensely. "And the other was just clear enough for us to test. We ran it through the system and we got a match, sir."

Lawson waits, expectant. "And?"

"It is confirmed to be that of Charles DiLaurentis," Simone nods. "The girls were telling the truth, sir."

"Well, that's a first," Lawson grumbles. "And who the hell _is_ Charles DiLaurentis?"

"I have that information, sir," Lydia speaks up, suddenly confident again. "He's the eldest child of Kenneth and Jessica DiLaurentis of Rosewood, Pennsylvania. He was a patient at Radley Sanitarium, admitted when he was just nine years old, in 1995. There was an investigation on the institution in 2007 following the death of another patient and, around that time, all records of Charles DiLaurentis ran cold. His whereabouts have been unknown ever since."

Toby frowns and a lump grows in his throat. _The death of another patient_. He knows that all too well. Clearing his throat, he attempts, "Agent Lawson, sir-"

"So this sociopath is an _actual_ sociopath," Lawson frowns. "Awesome. And you're telling me there are _no_ other records of him following his unauthorized release from Radley?"

"No, sir," Lydia confirms. "This is all we've got."

"Sir-"

"And he doesn't have any other family that he could be hiding with?"

"Jessica passed away roughly six or so years ago and as far as we know, he's never had a great relationship with his father."

"Sir, please-"

"And why would you say that?"

"Well, we've got Radley's visitor's log and though Jessica visited weekly, Kenneth never did. Not once."

"Interesting," Lawson says and then sighs in exasperation and faces Toby. "And _what_ is it that you want, Cavanaugh? You're impeding the investigation, here."

"I'm sorry, sir. I know this whole thing is important," Toby tells him. "But the girls are gone."

Lawson stares a moment before exclaiming, "They're gone? What do you mean, they're gone?"

"I went in there a couple of minutes ago," Toby repeats, perfectly rehearsed. "I wanted to see if they were hungry or if they needed anything. But they're gone. I searched the whole building."

Lawson swears under his breath and shouts to a few agents. "Code blue! Let's go! Let's move! _Now!_ "

He turns back to Toby, who's saying, "There's no sign of forced entry and nothing that suggests foul play."

"What are you saying, Cavanaugh?"

"I think they left on their own," Toby replies and hopes that Spencer and the girls have had enough time. There's no turning back, now. "I think they've gone looking for _him_."

* * *

Clue number three is a piece of paper that reads, _Come find me_. It's nothing if not irritating; they're _trying_. They're desperately trying and he's only making this increasingly more difficult. It feels like he's dangling the truth right above them and each time they touch it with the tips of their fingers, he cackles and yanks it out of reach and they're stuck grasping at straws once more. This is exhausting; this is the exact reason they were placed in the Program in the first place. There is nothing that she and the girls want more than for this whole entire process to be behind them and Spencer's almost positive Charles has finally reached that point, too. And yet, he's putting up one hell of a fight; he's going down swinging.

When they leave the convention center, a merciless text awaits. _It's our town, everybody scream. In this town of Halloween. Say it once, say it twice, bodies slide beneath the ice_.

This time, it doesn't stump any of them, and they find themselves simultaneously shouting, "The Halloween train!"

As they're heading towards the corner of the town, Hanna asks, "So it's Bethany's body, right? The one from the cooler?"

"Well, it's obviously not Ali's," Aria says. "I guess I just always assumed it was Bethany's."

"So who killed her?" Emily wonders. "And who the hell _was_ she?"

"Someone Charles mistook for Ali," Spencer says. "Other than that, who knows? She could be innocent, for all we know."

"Spence, she's involved in all this, somehow," Hanna points out. "She's _definitely_ not innocent."

"What I want to know is, not only who killed her, but _why_ ," Aria then says. "And why was Wilden paid to cover it up? What was in it for him?"

"Why did Melissa bury her alive?" Emily adds and Spencer frowns.

"Because she thought _I_ killed her, remember?"

"That doesn't add up," Hanna shakes her head and the others resist the urge to ask, _Does anything?_ "She had to have been covering for someone else. She didn't even see you and Ali arguing that night, did she?"

"Not that I know of," Spencer shrugs. "But how do I know? And who, if not Melissa, bashed Ali over the head that night? Why was everyone so sure she was dead?"

"And why did Mrs. D try to cover it up by burying her?" Aria wonders. "Who was she trying to protect _so desperately_ that she'd bury her own daughter alive for?"

"Guys, we should write down this list of questions," Hanna suggests. "Because when we come face to face with this son of a bitch, we're getting some fucking answers."

When they arrive at the abandoned train station- only active during Halloween, after all- there's a message waiting for them that's bound to the tracks. _Let's play a game_.

"Jesus Christ," Hanna explodes. "Not another fucking game."

"You want her, I'm thinking, come find me, let's play a game," Aria recites. "This makes no sense. How many clues are there?"

"Who knows?" Emily throws up her hands. "This is ridiculous! We can't do this all day!"

"Spencer, the FBI is hot on our tails," Hanna fumes. "And we're not even going to be anywhere _near_ Charles at this point! We'll still be running around like chickens with our heads cut off, looking for stupid clues!"

"What are you yelling at me for?" Spencer argues. "Like this is my fault?"

"It was your stupid plan!"

"That we _all_ agreed on!"

"Guys, stop!" Emily shouts. "You're getting mad and frustrated because as always, Charles is sending us on a wild goose chase. But let's not take it out on each other, okay? We'll figure it out and we'll get to him before they can get to us."

"Okay, cool, because things have always worked according to plan for us in the past," Hanna bites back.

Aria nods. "I'm with Hanna."

"We can't give up yet," Spencer says. "Come on, we knew this was going to be a struggle. We knew going into it."

"Let's just get clue five," Aria replies as her phone jingles with a text. "And we'll go from there. Come on. We're getting there."

"Yeah, slowly," Hanna grumbles, glancing at her phone and reading, " _Ready for more after clue number four?_ "

" _Go back to the house of one of your own_ ," Emily recites reluctantly. " _My, how different it looks, now that you're grown!_ "

" _This was my personal best_ ," Aria says. " _It put you to the ultimate test_."

" _Do as they say and not as they do_ ," Spencer concludes. " _And we'll see if you'll make it to the next clue_."

"Back to one of our houses," Emily considers. "To do as they say-"

"Oh my god, the _Chucky_ dolls," Aria gasps. "Spence, we have to go to your house next."

"My house?" Spencer's eyes widen. "We can't go there; if my parents are there, or my sister-"

"We have to," Hanna sighs. "We can't give up, right? Your own words, Spencer. Own it."

"Okay," She agrees; _what's a little more trouble, after all she's done?_ "Okay. Let's go home."


	12. Twelve

**Good evening friends and family! I was going to update earlier this morning but I don't know what happened. I mean, I totally didn't watch LOST on Netflix and read Buzzfeed articles before work. That's not how you adult. :P Anyway, thank you for your reviews on the last chapter, but I do need to address a few things. I thought I'd made it clear from chapter one that this was going to be about -A, but apparently that wasn't inherent. So therefore, I apologize for misleading you and if you're not a fan of the whole "-A reveal/take-down/blah, blah, blah, that's totally fine. If you don't like it, cool. Lucky for you, you've got dozens of pages of stories on this site and they're all probably better than mine, anyway.  
**

 **I'm going to repeat it again- it's okay if you're not a fan. Trust me, you're not hurting my feelings. If you're not a fan of the -A storyline, you're not going to like this chapter and you're REALLY not going to like the next one. So yeah. Just putting it out there. I've warned you now, okay? So it's no longer my fault LOL. Now I want to address something the writing world likes to call constructive criticism. It's good! It's beneficial to me and you! What is it, you ask? Well, it's you, saying, "Hey! I think the conversation between Spencer and Hanna was a little unbelievable when Hanna said xyz. Here's something you can do to maybe make it a little better." And then I take that suggestion and try and work it into my story to grow as a writer. See? Yeah. So there's a difference between constructive criticism and being unnecessarily harsh. Constructive criticism is not saying, "Hey your story sucks" or "This is shitty." Believe me, I say that enough to myself, I don't need it from you. :)**

 **Alright, are we done? That's always so annoying, I'm sorry. Most of you are still super wonderful and my precious angels who I love so, so much. That's why I hate when I have to be uncool LOL. Please enjoy or please don't. Actually, no, please do whatever the heck you want. I don't own you. You're all wonderful and if you choose to review, let's keep it clean, okay? Positive or negative doesn't matter, but I'm a real person with feelings. Okay. Cool. Yeah. I love you guys. You're my sweet little cupcakes. See you soon! :D**

* * *

Twelve

She's had dreams of what it would be like, coming home after such a long time away. In between the torturous nightmares of the dollhouse and taunting episodes where she never sees Toby again, she'd dream about a day where Kate Wilson fades away and Spencer Hastings is all that's left behind. In one, she comes home to find the house moderately empty and when she enters, her parents barely even give her a second glance, as though she's never left. They tell her to wash up for dinner and go get Melissa; they're having pot roast. In another, she arrives on the front step of her childhood home and before she can knock, her mother's there, opening the door and embracing her youngest child in a way that she never has before. Her father kisses her crown and welcomes her to the place of all her memories and they make plans to volley on the tennis court out back. There's a cake baking in the oven and Melissa's hanging a banner above the fireplace; _Welcome home, Spencer!_

In reality, none of these things happen. In reality, no one's home, and the only thing greeting her is a bright red 'For Sale' sign.

She should've seen this coming. Toby's told her all about her parents' divorce and their desperation to move on as though they'd never met the other. With both children out of the house, the beloved Hastings' manor is the only thing left between them. She remembers the first conversation she'd had with Toby in her office back in Maine, how he'd mentioned her mother had some big announcement, and she realizes now that Toby had never told her what that was. Putting that together with the fact that all of the belongings in her bedroom were now in boxes, Spencer understands that this must've been what she wanted him to know and he mustn't have had the heart to tell her. Still, it stings. This is the house she'd grown up in, the one she had ninety percent of her memories in, and the one that shielded her from all the pressures of everyday life for so many years. And now, it was to belong to someone else.

Spencer can't imagine someone else living in her home. Someone else is going to relax under the soothing steam in the shower- a place where she almost lost her life. Someone else is going to be sleeping comfortably in her bedroom- the one with full view of the house next door, so close you can see right into Alison's old bedroom. Someone else is going to curl up in front of her fireplace and sit down to meals in her dining room and swim laps and throw parties in her pool. She wonders if the future homeowners know all the secrets this house holds or that it was once the burial site of their next-door neighbor or that the house right beside theirs is just as cursed, just as broken. She contemplates everything that had happened here- she'd taken her first steps across the smooth hardwood floor of her kitchen, she'd fallen in love with Toby when they were sitting on her couch and had barely known each other, she fell off her bike in her driveway when she was six, landed face first, and busted her two front teeth, she'd lost her virginity at the most perfect moment and to the most perfect guy… The list goes on and on. It's going to be someone else's list, now.

The girls come up behind her and Emily laments, "I'm sorry, Spence."

"For what? My house?" She implores and shakes her head hurriedly. "No, it's fine. I mean, it makes sense; what does my Mom need this big old house for anyway? Now that it's just her?"

"Still," Aria shrugs. "It's got to _suck_."

Spencer can't think of another response; the front door to her house opens and a woman in a pantsuit exits, approaching them. "Ah, come for the open house, have you?"

"Oh, uh…" Emily stammers. "No, we were just-"

"Yes, ma'am," Spencer nods, extending a hand. "Kate Wilson, pleasure. I realize we're a bit early, but I thought I could maybe get the first look."

"Miss Wilson, I'm Chelsea Robinson," The realtor shakes her hand and smiles a bit too wide. "You're more than welcome to come on in! May I ask your price range?"

"I'm new to the area," Spencer lies, following the woman into the house, the girls approaching quickly behind her. "Is the asking price standard for this neighborhood?"

"Yes, and this house especially," Chelsea tells her as they step inside and Spencer, for a moment, is speechless. This is her house and yet nothing is recognizable. "There's an in-ground pool, four bedrooms and a master with an in-suite bathroom, a stacked oven, two stone fireplaces and a guest house. It is the epitome of luxury if you're willing to pay for it."

"Hmm," Spencer nods, glancing over the details. "Well, the guesthouse would be a wonderful addition. My fiancé's family is tough, to say the least, to deal with. Getting a reprieve when they visit would be nice."

"Oh, I understand," Chelsea nods. "The owner's never used it, so it would be practically brand new."

Spencer smiles. "Well, I'm not sure I like the countertops. Would it be extra if I asked for a granite addition?"

"I'm sure we could work something out!"

"Granite's classier and goes better with the cabinets, don't you think girls?" Spencer asks, turning towards her friends, and then telling the realtor, "My bridesmaids. I needed their opinion too, of course."

"Oh, of course!" Chelsea exclaims. "Well, let me talk it over with the owner and I'll get back to you!"

"If she goes for it, I would like to put an offer in," Spencer says and Chelsea nods rapidly, racing into the next room with her phone already pressed to her ear.

"Spencer, what the _hell_ are you doing?" Hanna asks. "Guesthouses? Granite countertops? We need to be looking for the clue!"

"How else was I supposed to distract her?" Spencer implores. "The countertops are _already_ granite; I remember when they put them in. They cost a fortune."

"Okay, well she's likely not going to be on the phone for very long," Emily says. "Spread out; the clue's got to be somewhere."

And it is; sticking out from behind a log in Spencer's fireplace is a small message that reads, _Tug of war_. Hanna's already grumbling obscenities. "I swear to God…"

"That's the game he wants to play," Aria concludes. "Well, that makes sense."

"Come on," Emily urges. "Let's get out of here before Miss Granite Countertops comes back."

They all head for Spencer's back door, but the girl in question is staring longingly at the staircase. What she wouldn't give to see her bedroom right about now. Aria places a hand on her upper arm and grounds her in reality. "Spence, not now, okay? We've got to get out of here."

With more emotion than she'd care to admit, Spencer says, "Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

They're walking with a purpose down the street as Emily recites the clues they've gotten so far. "Okay, you want her, I'm thinking, let's play a game, come find me and now tug of war. We're almost there. We can do this; we're _so_ close."

"Oh, so now you're all gung-ho and ready to find this bitch?" Hanna rolls her eyes. "We haven't made _any_ progress. We're exactly where we were at the start of this thing; we've got _nothing_. Just a random smattering of broken phrases that make no sense!"

"We haven't gotten all of them yet, Hanna," Spencer stops her. "It'll make sense in the end. I'm sure."

"Oh you're sure? You're _sure?_ " Hanna complains. "What makes you so sure?"

And before she can answer, their phones chime with their next set of directions. _Do your faces hurt? Because they're killing me. Wipe those smiles off, ladies. What have I always told you? – A_

"'Dead girls can't smile. Stop looking'," Aria remembers and Hanna scoffs.

"Right, something he's always _told_ us? Or something he's always sent us?" Hanna replies. "Sending Emily a necklace of teeth and playing post office between mine?"

"He's a got a thing for disconnected body parts," Spencer comments. "The dentist. Let's go."

It's pushing four o'clock and the dentist's office is still open with hygienists racing around the waiting room and phones ringing off the hook. Hanna's right; the bathroom key is shaped like a cuspid and the moment they spot it is the moment they find the next clue. Unfortunately, they have no way of getting it and so, they hatch a scheme. Aria distracts the one secretary by telling her there's a car being towed outside and with pure dumb luck, the car she describes is the exact same one the secretary drives. Emily explains that she has a terrible toothache and she needs to see a dentist immediately and when no walk-ins are available, she asks for the closest appointment and the remaining secretary is distracted by the system, which then crashes. With these diversions, Spencer and Hanna are able to sneak the key out of its holder and snatch the message accompanying it. They wait until they're a safe distance away to read it and it only further complicates their situation.

 _I want her too_.

"I'm not even going to say it this time," Hanna frowns. "You all know how I feel."

"We almost got recognized this time," Spencer says. "Who thought bringing Hanna back to the place she used to work was a good idea?"

"Yeah, Mrs. Ackard was like, '… Hanna?' and I had to pretend I didn't speak English," The blonde complains. "I mean, I know it's been five and a half years, but I used to date her son. She definitely knew it was me."

"But we're close, right?" Emily asks. "We've got to be nearing the end."

"Yeah, honestly," Aria agrees. "How many clues can he _possibly_ have?"

"Looks like we aren't done yet," Spencer says as her phone buzzes. " _Dirt and shovels and blood, oh my!_ "

" _Four mini-Alis lost without their leader_ ," Emily concludes. " _Follow in her footsteps and you'll be sure to meet her_."

"'Follow me, end up like me'?" Hanna suggests and Spencer nods.

"That's got to be it," She agrees. "That means we have to get to Brookhaven."

"Great. Another road trip," Aria sighs. "Okay, who's hitchhiking this time?"

It turns out, the Brookhaven doll hospital is closed; no surprise there. It was closed when they found the creepy doll predicting their deaths years ago, too. The door is left unlocked as though someone's expected them to arrive and they creep down the rickety staircase and into the back of the room, passing by doll parts and stuffing and little plastic limbs. In the cabinet where they once found a miniature creation of Alison's death scene, there's a small slip of paper reading, _Time's running out and you're losing_. They have a smattering, now, of seven disjointed clues and there's no doll, this time, saying they're going to end up like Alison if they continue forward. It must be inherent.

"Guys," Emily whines uncomfortably. "Can we get out of here?"

"This place is giving me the creeps," Aria shivers. "I can't believe I ever made dolls the subject of my photos. Can I take that back?"

Spencer finds a corner of empty table space, pulls out all of their slips of paper and begins to arrange them in order. Hanna asks, "Spencer, what are you doing?"

"'You want her? I want her too'," Spencer says. "'Let's play a game. I'm thinking tug of war. Come find me. Time's running out and you're losing.' They're in order, now. We just have to find him."

"Only you would have realized that," Hanna comments. "As if it's that easy."

"I knew you'd come back."

The four girls' heads snap in the direction of the staircase and there's a young boy, probably around twelve or thirteen, staring at them from the staircase. They remain silent, but he says, "They tried to send you away but you can't stay hidden forever."

It's Aria who recognizes him first. "Seth?"

The boy nods and says, "The man and the woman who want to hurt Alison… They're back. They're going to hurt her tonight."

"Do you know who they are?" Emily asks cautiously. "Or where they are?"

"No," He shakes his head and points to Spencer and Hanna. "But they do."

Hanna wonders, "I know where they are?"

"You know who," Seth tells her. "You both do."

"The man and the woman," Spencer starts. "You said they had dark hair?"

"Yes, like yours," Seth replies. "You have to look behind the mask. They're not who you think they are."

A noise clatters from upstairs and he glances in that direction before saying, "I'm lucky I don't have any brothers and sisters. They're too much trouble."

He then looks directly at Spencer and says, "I'm sorry."

And then he bounds up the stairs and he's gone. Aria shakes her head. "Okay, so he still hasn't seen the sun. Moving on."

"Brothers and sisters are a curse, the dark-haired man and woman are back," Hanna lists. "What is he getting at?"

" _Moving on_ ," Aria repeats. "He lives among doll parts and doesn't leave this building. He's not a reliable source of information."

"I don't know," Emily disagrees. "He knows things. Do you think he just made it up?"

"What choice does he have?" Aria wonders. "What else does he have to do with his life?"

"Can we please get out of here?" Hanna begs. "This place isn't any less terrifying than it was the first time."

As they're walking with a purpose through Brookhaven, one member of the group is noticeably silent. Aria pokes her friend's side, asking, "Spence? You haven't said a word. What's wrong?"

"I don't know," She shakes her head. "The things that kid said… They rubbed me the wrong way."

"Oh my god, you can't go by what he says," Aria disagrees. "He's trying to freak us out."

"Okay, well, it's working," Hanna agrees. "I'm sorry; I'm with Spencer on this one. Charles' identity should apparently be more obvious to me and Spencer? Why? Who did we both come into contact with that would make that true?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Han," Spencer tells her. "I mean, before prom, you and I were sleuthing so much and suspecting _so_ many people… It could be anyone."

And before they can give it any more thought, their final set of instructions comes to them via text. Emily reads, " _You might think you're done, but we've only just begun_."

Aria's next. " _I just can't wait until you find clue eight_."

" _In here, we all lived together_ ," Hanna says. " _Through screams and games and stormy weather_."

" _We danced, we dined, then out of the blue_ ," Spencer finishes. " _You escaped and ruined this for me, too_."

"Oh my god, _no_ ," Aria exclaims. "I am _not_ going back there."

"It's been _years_ ," Emily says. "And I _still_ have nightmares about the dollhouse. I can't- I _won't_ go back there."

"Charles is such a bitch," Hanna shakes her head. "I swear, when I see him, I'm going to _throttle_ him. He won't even get the chance to explain. I'm just going to kill him on sight."

"Guys, I don't want to go back there either," Spencer says. "I mean, come on, that's the _last_ thing that I want to do. But is he giving us a choice?"

Hanna sighs. "We never have a choice."

"Okay, but do we even know where this place is?" Aria asks. "I mean, we were disoriented and sleep-deprived and starved when we stumbled out of there."

"And in an armored van and drugged when we went _in_ there," Emily throws up her hands in frustration. "We'll never find it again."

"Actually, it's a bunker in a field just outside of Rosewood," Spencer says. "The field's about a hundred and twenty three steps from the highway and then you turn left, go past the weeping willow, and the bunker should be about sixty-seven steps west of there."

The others stare at her before Aria says, "Okay, you're still a freak. I still love you. Let's go."

Roughly an hour later, they arrive at the supposed dollhouse and it's dilapidated and falling apart much to their relief. It still brings back horrifying, unrelenting flashbacks that make Spencer want to crawl under the covers and hide and hide. There's the electric fence they almost perished in and the field where they almost froze to death. She remembers waking up completely naked on a metal slab and being forced to choose which one of her friends was tortured next; _choose one or all will suffer_. She remembers the room that was not her own, the rocking chair that was not the one Toby had crafted for her, and the artificial sunlight and dark, empty nights. Waking up on the floor, covered in blood, and _please follow the lighted pathway_. Mystery date. Prom. Charles breathing down her neck. Something feeling off and yet so uncannily familiar about him. She remembers this place; she remembers the horrors. She wishes she could forget.

Glancing at her friends, she knows they're all going through that exact same thing. There's a slip of paper attached to the ground before them with a stake. Aria snatches it and reads, " _1228 Angel Drive_. Holy shit, he gave us an address."

Spencer thinks aloud. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Okay, I'm already Googling it," Hanna says, yanking out her phone and then groaning. "Ugh, I have really shitty service out here."

"Spence, I guess you were right," Emily comments. "He _does_ want this to be over. He wants to be found."

"I guess it was only a matter of time," Aria says. "You can't do this forever."

"And at this point, he pretty much has been."

"It's in Philly," Hanna states a moment later and then Spencer gasps.

"Oh my god," Her eyes are wide. "I know _exactly_ where that is."

"'You want her? I want her too. Let's play a game. I'm thinking tug of war'," Emily recites, putting it all together one last time. "'Come find me. Time's running out and you're losing. 1228 Angel Drive.'"

"And Spencer, you know where that is," Aria says. "Does that mean you know _who_ it is?"

"I don't; not really," Spencer replies. "But I know who lives there."

Simultaneously, the girls ask, "Who?"

Spencer exhales heavily before answering. "Wren."

* * *

"Cavanaugh," Lawson grumbles as their vans and squad cars race towards Rosewood. "Why didn't you bring this to me sooner?"

Toby sighs and says, "I tried, sir. You kept shutting me down."

He frowns. "Is this normal behavior? For them? To go out and seek danger rather than avoid it?"

Toby contemplates all they've done in the past and can't help an ironic smile. "Yes. Very much so."

"Well then, I'm going to need your help," He states. "You're going to have to help me figure out where they might go in order to find him."

And this, of course, completely stumps Toby, because he has _no_ idea where Charles has been hiding out all these years, or else he would have captured him _years_ ago. He tries to think of the past –A instances Spencer and the girls have gone through and none of the ones he knows about seem extreme enough to warrant his locale. He can't say anything for the ones he doesn't know about. Honesty and communication have always been their two biggest struggles and he knows it comes from a place of anxiety, insecurity and a desire to keep the other safe. But in a situation like this, Toby could really use all the information he could get. He goes over everything he knows, any possible significant detail, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks.

"The dollhouse," Toby blurts out in realization and both Lawson and Lydia, who's sitting beside him, turn to look at him in surprise.

"The _what_?" Lawson implores and Toby clarifies.

"When he kidnapped them," He begins and it still feels awful to say. "He brought them to this underground bunker and held them there for weeks. Torturing them and isolating them and… God knows what else."

He can't help himself; he gets momentarily choked up. It's been years and years and yet, he still doesn't know what happened down there. Spencer's never told him and he imagines she never will. Lydia looks sympathetic, but Lawson presses on. "Yeah, I know about the bunker. He called it the dollhouse?"

"As far as I know," Toby nods. "Charles has a thing for dolls and games. He treats humans like they're objects. If they were going to search for him, I'd bet they'd start there."

Lawson takes this in and asks, "So I assume you're knowledgeable of where this place is? Exactly?"

"Yes, sir," Toby affirms and Lawson nods.

"Alright. Lead the way."

He continues to offer directions as the van slips through the early evening. There's silence when Lydia says, "That must've been awful. I can't imagine living through that and having the courage to go on."

"They're strong," Toby comments. "They always have been. It's always amazed me. Right from the start."

"Still," She shakes her head. "What kind of human being _does_ that to four teenage girls? Five, I guess, counting Mona and six, with Sara Harvey. That's just… It's inhumane."

" _He's_ inhumane," Toby says bitterly. "Whoever he is, he's _sick_. And if he's got them now, then… I can't bear the thought of what he's doing."

Lydia regards him for a moment and he's just beginning to feel uncomfortable when she asks, "It's Spencer, isn't it?"

Toby's eyes snap to hers. "What do you mean?"

"I told you a while back that I didn't know all the details about the girls and I didn't know which one was your girlfriend," Lydia clarifies. "But it's Spencer, isn't it?"

Toby's quiet a moment before nodding and asking, "How'd you guess?"

"Earlier, when they brought her in and we all went in to tell her what was happening," Lydia says. "The way you two looked at each other… It was like no one else was in the room. It's crazy, that's all."

Interest piqued, Toby challenges, "What is?"

"That it's been five and a half years," Lydia comments wistfully. "And you're both obviously still in love."

The true nature of her words washes over him as she adds, "You're lucky, you know. Some people don't ever get that."

And he supposes he is, though parts of their past might prove otherwise. He doesn't argue. Instead, they arrive at what was once the dollhouse and it's abandoned. It's a complete ghost town. There's an inactive electric fence surrounding the outer perimeter, but they're able to step through it, guns drawn, as they enter the building. It's dark and dismal and dingy; there's a faint dripping sound from a leaky pipe, somewhere, and dust, cobwebs and spiders crawling up the walls. They push open all the doors and find nothing but abandoned board games, a broken, garbled radio, and ripped pieces of tulle, perhaps from a ball gown. In one room, there's a long metal table, like those used in a morgue, and in another, it's completely empty, save for a large puddle of dried blood. Toby doesn't want to know whom it belongs to, but he does want to get the hell out of here. He doesn't know how the girls made it three weeks in here without going insane. When they exit, he feels sick and he now has a bit of a better understanding of what happened here and that's when he spots the stake in the ground. Stuck to it is a piece of paper reading, _1228 Angel Drive_.

It's an address in Philadelphia he's passed numerous times and he's not sure why it's here. Until he is; it must be where he is, where _they_ are, and Spencer's left it behind for him, as a clue. He grins at her resourcefulness- she's thought of _everything_ \- and brings it to his leader's attention. "Agent Lawson? I think I might've found something."

Lawson turns the piece of paper over in his hands and nods, clapping Toby on the shoulder. "Good work, Cavanaugh. When this is all over, I think we could see you becoming a permanent member of this force."

"With all due respect, sir," Toby turns him down gently. "When this is all over, I'm headed for an early retirement."

Lawson's mouth draws into a tight line. Behind him, Lydia's smiling. "Right then. We're headed to the address Detective Cavanaugh's found. Guns at the ready! We know he is armed and will not go down without a fight, so neither will you!"

Toby follows suit and hopes with everything he has that they aren't too late.

* * *

1228 Angel Drive is an apartment complex named after Heaven, which is entirely ironic, because it looks like hell. It's a dark brownstone, windows framed by swinging shutters and steps old and rickety. Spencer's trying to remember if it looked this horrible the last time she was here, but that's a foggy memory in itself; it was a few days before she was committed to Radley and she was in a bad place, both mentally and physically speaking, so she really can't rely too much on her memories. They knock, but the door clicks open, and the light that welcomes them in is much too bright for this time of evening. There's no one to be found and not a sound is heard, but in the background, there's a flickering light and they find themselves gravitating towards it. There's a banner in the kitchen reading 'Welcome Home, Girls!' and it has all of their faces on it. Alison's, however, is scratched out.

"What the hell is this?" Emily breathes and the others shake their heads.

"I don't know," Hanna replies.

"It looks like he's throwing us a party," Aria comments and Spencer nods.

"Yeah, a _homecoming_ party," She nods. "And after attending his version of prom, I don't really think I'm up for it."

On the table, there's a plate of cupcakes and a bowl of shiny red punch. A piñata is hanging from the ceiling fan in the living room and a video idles on the television screen. It's eerie. It doesn't get any less eerie as they hear footsteps on the staircase. Aria panics, "You guys, someone's coming."

A flash of red comes around the corner and, as though a blast from the past, they find themselves standing mere inches from Red Coat. If Red Coat and –A are the same person, then there's no _way_ they were right about Charles all these years, because this figure before them is quite obviously a woman. She's tall in high-heeled boots, skinny jeans and that infamous red pea coat, tied at her waist, her hands in both pockets. She's got a plethora of curly blonde hair that falls just past her shoulder and her face is waxen and Alison's; Spencer had once thought if she never saw another Alison mask again, it would be too soon. And yet, here it is, on the face of their attacker.

Aria demands, "Who are you?"

Red Coat shakes head, nods towards the table full of goodies, and Hanna scoffs. "I'm _not_ eating those. You're going to give us some _damn_ answers, or so help me God-"

A hand slips out of her pocket and the girls are silent. She's wielding a gun; she'd obviously expected the backlash. Emily, in an attempt to keep the peace, tries, "Okay, okay. We'll eat first. No one has to get hurt. Calm down."

Red Coat nods and the gun slips out of sight once more. She forces them to eat cupcakes and drink the sugary punch until they're all sure they're going to vomit and then she ties a handkerchief around Hanna's eyes and hands her a baseball bat. They each take turns whacking at the piñata and when it breaks open, there isn't candy inside, but tiny little coins, black in color with scarlet letter As. Spencer's the one who breaks it open and when she hears the coins clatter to the floor, she yanks off the handkerchief and immediately recognizes it as the one Wren had offered her when she was bawling over losing Toby. But it can't be Wren; after all, this is a woman leading them to the couch, a woman pressing play, a woman sitting daintily beside them. Perhaps Wren's dead; perhaps Red Coat's killed him and has been using his former dwelling for all these years. Maybe Red Coat had been the one to fear all along.

The video on the screen follows each of the girls' families and significant others as they try to cope with their absences. They watch as a shaky camera angle shows Byron and Ella screaming at one another, each blaming the other for letting this get as far as it had. A confused Paige opens her mailbox and finds all the letters she'd sent to Emily returned to sender, always the last to know. Caleb's drinking and wincing at the taste, wiping at his eyes every so often as he packs a bag solemnly. Pam is bawling awful, guttural sobs as Wayne whispers something in her ear, his arms around her. Veronica's packing all of Spencer's things away and she glances over her shoulder, barely registering the fact that Peter's there, too, a box of his own things in his arms. Ashley is like a zombie at work and at home, wandering empty halls and unsure of what to do with herself. Ezra's left the country altogether and, distracted, he severs a finger on a table saw and spews curse words as he tries to staunch the bleeding. Toby's lying in bed, catatonic, holding onto the pocket watch with a death grip and staring at the photo of him and Spencer at his bedside, smiling in a happier time. It's a homemade video of horrors and they want, no, they _need_ it to be over. It's too much to handle.

"You see," A garbled voice comes over a clip of doors slamming at the Montgomery house. "I'm not the only one. You made their lives miserable too."

"No, _you_ did," Aria argues. "If you'd never done any of this, we wouldn't have had to join the Witness Protection Program and we never would have been taken away."

"That's the reason everyone's so upset," Emily explains, shaking her head. "Not _because_ of us. _Over_ us."

"You've ruined everything in your path," Spencer adds. "You tortured us for years and years and when that was over, when you couldn't touch us anymore, you moved on to _them_."

"You're sick," Hanna spits out. "You have _no_ idea what it takes to be a good person. You're so far from that line, you can't even see it anymore. Don't try to heap guilt on us. It won't work; we're immune to your tricks, by now."

"You're inhumane," Spencer goes on. "It takes empathy to be human and you are severely lacking."

"No matter what you say," Hanna says. "I will _never_ feel sorry for you."

"Oh please, Hanna," Red Coat finally speaks. "Tone it down. Don't be so dramatic."

The girls gasp as she reaches upwards and peels off her mask, her own grin wide and wicked. "CeCe?"


	13. Thirteen

**Hello all! I'm back with the mother of all chapters. It's long af and the only other one that beats this is next chapter, the final chapter, which is longer than this. Sorry. Shutting up is not really my strong point. You all might have realized that by now. :P So this is it, then! The Unholy Trinity is exploding into view in mere minutes! Let's be real, you all already know who they are. I'm not fooling anyone, right? Right. I tried to answer everything I could, but you'd be surprised (or, maybe you wouldn't) how many unnecessary questions and plotholes this show has, so I couldn't address everything. So yeah, this is hardly perfect. And there will still be parts where you're like, "But Britni, what about...?" And I'll be just like Marlene, saying, "What I gave you here is canon, ignore anything else in the show!"**

 **(Sorry, I'm still bitter about her bullshit explanation for that Toby/Alison flashback, can you tell?)**

 **Okay cool. So thank you, as always, for your amazing, incredible, wonderful feedback on the last chapter. You all rock, seriously. I love you, my jumping juniper trees. Today I'm going to Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween party (because perks of working for Disney are that you get to go to these things for almost free) with friends so I will be mostly indisposed, but fear not! You can always reach me through review, PM or Tumblr. And I know I'll come back with two things- a boatload of candy (because trick or treating around the Magic Kingdom has no age limit, score!) and fabulous reviews. Because you're awesome, all of you. Okay, I'm gonna go hide now. Love you! :)**

* * *

Thirteen

"No," Spencer is the first one to shake her head. "No, this makes no sense. You can't be –A."

"And yet, here I am," CeCe grins. "In the flesh."

"No," Spencer insists. "Maybe you're Red Coat. Maybe you're involved in all this. But you're not the head. You can't be."

"And why not? Why is it so difficult for you to believe?" CeCe asks. "You don't think I can fight as dirty as you? You don't think this thing could've been planned and executed by a woman?"

"That's not it," Emily shakes her head. "You were Ali's friend."

"So were you," CeCe says. "Just goes to show- you can't trust us DiLaurentises."

"What are you saying?" Aria wonders. "You're not telling us Ali was involved in all this?"

"Wasn't she? Isn't she the reason you're all here anyway?" CeCe implores. "She might not have sent the texts, she might never have put on the hoodie, but she's just as –A as any of us. You all must realize that by now."

After a beat, Spencer goes back to disagreeing. "No, this is _stupid_. You're not –A. You aren't Charles DiLaurentis."

"Oh honey, you thought you were so _smart_ , didn't you? Picking a name out of a smattering of blocks," CeCe drawls smarmily. "How many times do I have to lead you off a cliff before you stop crawling your way back to the top?"

Hanna scoffs, "What could _possibly_ be your motive? You were Ali's friend; you secretly hated her _that_ much that you'd take it out on her and all of us like this?"

"Don't be so dramatic, dear," CeCe warns. "This was just a game, see? She lost. And so did you."

The girls are silent. CeCe goes on, "My earliest memory of that bitch is the day she came home from the hospital and everyone was fawning over her like she was some sort of princess. I hated her from the start; those were _my_ parents and she stole them away. All the attention they used to give me? Well that was gone. No one cared about Charles when the _new baby_ was here."

Spencer dares to ask, "What about Jason? He likely got ignored too and you don't see him doing any of these things."

"Jason had plenty of other skeletons in his closet. Do you _not_ remember his club of potheads that made kiddie porn? You were the stars, after all," CeCe explains. "And anyway, Jason wasn't a _real_ DiLaurentis, was he? He was doomed to be a castoff from the start. I never bothered with him. He never got in my way; he never got in _anyone's_ way, because he was useless. A loner, a reject. You know what it's like to be the reject kid, don't you Spencer?"

The brunette in question frowns and CeCe continues. "Regardless, she's screaming her fucking head off and my parents were nowhere to be seen and that was my chance. I dropped her in the bathtub and watched the scalding water burn her skin red and she screamed like she never had before. It was pretty epic. Of course, Daddy Dearest had to come in and save her before anything could _really_ happen and then he was looking at me like I was some kind of monster. If I was, it was only because they made me one."

"That's how I got to Radley and Daddy Dearest never visited," CeCe groans. "Perhaps he was disappointed that his only _real_ son wasn't real at all. Or maybe it was because he'd known there was something off about me from the start. Either way, it didn't stop Mother from visiting. She was there every week, sometimes everyday, and she always brought gifts and food and games. She took an odd liking to a friend of mine and just when I thought it was going to happen all over again, that I was once again going to be replaced, that crazy bitch went and fucked everything up."

"Bethany Young was a hurricane and she _deserved_ to die the way she did," CeCe says. "No one knew where she came from. She had no friends, she had no family… She used to target certain patients at Radley, bullying them, until they were forced to either comply or off themselves. I watched her do it over and over and I was fascinated by it. She was an inspiration… Until I was her next target. And then I wanted to _kill_ her. Thankfully, Mona took care of that for me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Hanna shakes her head. "Mona killed Bethany? You're lying."

"Sweetie, I wish I was, believe me. I wanted to do it myself," CeCe says. "But I watched her bash that girl's head in just like I watched Melissa bury her alive. Those two could play Bonnie and Clyde _so_ well if they liked each other."

Hanna's still skeptical. "But _why?_ "

"She thought Bethany was Ali," CeCe explains. "And she was _just_ sick enough to want that bitch dead, although, back then, didn't everybody? I mean, no one was really broken up about her death. And I understood her thinking, honestly; both of those blonde bitches bore a shocking resemblance to one another. Maybe that's why I liked Bethany so much; she looked like Ali, she acted like Ali, and she was hated just as much."

"But with Bethany dead and Alison gone, what could I do?" She goes on. "I had no one to play the game with, anymore. No one to scare, no one to torture. And then, well, who was left behind but her four little dolls? Perfect, perfectionist Spencer, artsy, eclectic Aria, sporty, closeted Emily and Hefty Hanna, the Ali clone; who better to try the game on than the four who fell at Ali's feet and followed her every command? Oh, and you responded _so_ well, too; the game was like a drug. You were so scared and so stressed out and then your significant others got involved and your friends and your parents… All I had to do was pull at the strings and my puppets would dance."

"That's it?" Hanna exclaims. "That's all we get?"

"Yeah," Aria agrees. "You tortured us for _years_ because we were second best? If you couldn't have Ali, you settled for us?"

"You did all of this because you were jealous?" Emily asks. "Because you hated the attention your parents gave her?"

Spencer's back to shaking her head. "It doesn't add up. I'm sorry. I don't buy it."

"Maybe it's just that you don't _recognize_ it," CeCe corrects her. "It's called the truth, Spencer. It's the opposite of a lie."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you in the ass," Spencer counters. "And there are _so_ many holes in your story, CeCe. There are way too many."

CeCe purses her lips. "Well, this is the time for questions, comments and concerns. Hit me."

"If you're really who you say you are-" Spencer begins but Hanna cuts her off.

"If you really do identify as a woman, then why did you represent yourself as a man?" She asks heatedly. "In the dollhouse, every time we saw a black hoodie… Why do that if you're trying to rid yourself of that identity?"

CeCe frowns. "It's a complicated process, Hanna. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"How do you have access to cadavers?" Aria wants to know. "All the teeth and bones you've sent us… _Where_ would you get them?"

"Morgues are very easy to sneak into," CeCe says. "No one in there is going to rat you out, you know."

"If Jason was so 'useless,' then why did you push him down the elevator shaft?" Emily wants to know. "What would hurting him ultimately do for you?"

"And speaking of Jason," Spencer adds. "You dated him, right? That's _disgusting_. He's your brother, supposedly."

"He was collateral damage; I was aiming for _you_ ," CeCe explains to Emily and then addresses Spencer. "And let's be real, Spencer. We're no strangers to this game. Ask your sister how it's played."

Pursing her lips, Spencer then requests, "Okay, so explain Mona."

"Were you hallucinating during the part where I did?"

"She couldn't have killed Bethany," Spencer disagrees and Hanna eagerly nods, backing her up.

"There's no way," Hanna refuses. "She was sick. But she wasn't a _murderer_."

"She was already lost in her own psychosis," CeCe shrugs. "All she needed was the yellow top and long blonde hair to assume all blonde bitches were the same."

"No, that doesn't make sense," Spencer says. "Because if she killed Bethany thinking she was Alison, then she would've believed Alison was dead."

"You catch on quick, sweetheart."

"No," The brunette continues. "She would've believed Alison was dead, but she didn't. She didn't because... Because she came looking for her. She picked Alison up after Grunwald plucked her from the ground. She drove her to Lost Woods, she took care of her... She never would have found her, she never would have _looked_ for her, if she thought she killed her."

CeCe frowns. "I suppose that could be-"

"And wait," Spencer goes on. "You couldn't have been in Radley your whole life."

"I was, dear. I thought we already established that."

"Then…" Spencer trails off, thinking of the many, many mysteries they have yet to solve. "Then you know who killed Marion Cavanaugh."

CeCe smiles wryly. "I was wondering when you'd ask about that. Haven't I given you enough information about Bethany for you to infer it was her?"

"But if she'd done that," Spencer says. "Then… You're twenty-nine."

"You're good at math, sweetheart."

"No, you're _twenty-nine_." Spencer shakes her head. "If you were in Radley with Bethany Young… She would've killed Toby's mom when you were kids."

"Exactly."

"But that's not possible."

"And why not?"

"Because," Spencer says as though it's obvious. "To imply that Bethany killed her when you were kids means that Marion Cavanaugh died when Toby was a toddler. But he was fourteen."

CeCe falters. "Yeah, but-"

"And going off of that," Spencer goes on. "Wilden was the officer who was paid off by Mrs. DiLaurentis to cover up Marion's death. He would've been in grade school; nowhere _near_ becoming a police officer, let alone going corrupt."

There's panic in the blonde's eyes, now. "Spencer, you're focusing on the wrong-"

"You're the same age as Jason," Spencer continues. "You were in the same grade at Rosewood High, which means you couldn't have been at Radley. You're in the yearbook; you might have been in the drama club, but you're not as good of an actress as you think."

"Spencer-"

"And _since_ you're the same age as Jason," She continues. "You can't be related to him unless you're twins. Two different guys can't impregnate Mrs. DiLaurentis at the same time. That's, scientifically speaking, nearly impossible."

After a long pause, CeCe grins at her and says, "Damn Spencer. You _are_ smarter than I took you for. He's wrong, you know; you're more than just a pretty face."

And just when Spencer's about to ask who 'he' is, CeCe crosses the room, yanks open a door by the back of the staircase, and asks into the abyss of darkness, "How did I do?"

"Your tone was good; very well executed," A voice sounds. "But you missed many of the important details. Brush up, love; it needs work."

From the darkness, a black hooded figure emerges and that sense of familiarity Spencer had felt in the dollhouse returns. She hadn't recognized the voice, but the moment he glances up and removes his hood, all the air leaves her lungs. "Wren?"

"Good to see you too, Spencer," He nods in her direction and flashes his winning smile at the other girls. "Welcome, dolls. I hope you're settling in nicely."

It's then that she realizes _why_ she hadn't recognized his drawl; his accent is as fake as he is. Disgust colors Spencer's visage as she asks, "This whole time… _You_ were the one behind this?"

"Aw, I know, it _sucks_ being lied to, huh?" Wren grins and then nods towards CeCe. "Would you mind helping me with our little friend? She's feisty this evening."

CeCe rolls her eyes. "When is she _not_?"

Out of the abyss of darkness CeCe rolls an office chair and sitting upon it, arms and legs bound, is Alison DiLaurentis. Thick duct tape is slapped across her mouth and her hair is tangled and matted over her forehead. She squints in the light, just enough for the girls to notice she has a black eye. CeCe grins at her and says, "You should've seen these bitches' faces when they learned it was me. Not as good as yours, doll, but good enough."

"Ahem," Wren clears his throat. "When they learned it was _you?_ As far as I'm concerned, you're as much of a pawn as the rest of them."

CeCe's eyes flash with anger. "A _pawn?_ That's what I am to you? A fucking pawn?"

Wren scrubs a gloved hand over his face. "We don't have to have this argument again."

"Oh, _sure_ we don't," CeCe growls. "I bet you never say that to _her_."

"CeCe..."

"No, really," CeCe argues. "I have been there since day one and _I'm_ the fucking pawn? Meanwhile, _she's_ only there until she gets something better! It's happened with Ian! It's happened with Garrett! And it'll happen again! As soon as someone better comes along, she'll up and leave and who'll always be there to pick up the pieces? Me! It's always me! But do I get any appreciation for it? Do I get any respect? _No!_ Because, as always, it's all about _her!_ "

Her rant is silenced as Wren backhands her across the face. The girls nearly jump out of their skin; even Alison's eyes are wide. CeCe holds a hand to her bloody lip as Wren looks at her sympathetically. "Now you know I didn't want to do that. Do you see where you acted out of line?"

In horror, the girls watch as she nods slowly. "I'm sorry, Charles. It won't happen again."

"I know it won't," Wren says and kisses her on the forehead. He then turns towards Spencer and yanks the handkerchief from her hands. As he's tending to CeCe's busted lip, he chuckles, "Wipe those doe-eyed looks off your faces, ladies. It can't be that much of a surprise."

They're utterly speechless. Hanna recoils in disgust. "I... I let you _kiss_ me!"

"And it was lovely, Hanna," Wren nods. "Just lovely."

"You... You were in my room," Spencer shivers. "You touched me. You drove me home. You got me drunk. You were engaged to my _sister-"_

CeCe snorts and Wren sends her a look, a warning. "You'll get over it. Melissa did; in fact, we make quite the team, she and I."

"Wait," Spencer says. "What do you mean?"

"A team, Spencer. The three of us. The golden trio," Wren explains. "If I'm in the hoodie and CeCe's in the red coat, who did you think was beneath that black veil?"

"No," Emily's the one to express outrage, this time, because Spencer's speechless. "No, Spencer's her sister. She'd never do that to her."

"So? Ali's mine," Wren says, locking eyes with the blonde in the corner. "And I've wanted that bitch dead since the moment I laid eyes on her."

"Blood means nothing, nowadays," CeCe adds. "If anything, it only adds more fuel to the fire. More of a reason for vengeance."

Spencer finds her voice shakily. "No, I… I don't believe you."

"You should," A voice comes from behind her and when Spencer whirls around, she comes face to face with Melissa.

"No, I can't… I don't…" Spencer stammers. "Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you help _him?_ "

"Help him?" Melissa counters. "This was practically my idea."

"Oh come off it, Mel," CeCe groans. "Don't pretend that just because you came up with a few clever texts and helped us dispose of some bodies that you were the one calling the shots."

"Yeah? And what exactly did _you_ do?" Melissa argues back. "Sleep with Wilden? And Garrett? And now this one? Seems like you're after all my sloppy seconds."

CeCe fills with rage. "I would _never-_ "

"And what exactly _is_ your motive for helping, anyway?" Melissa cuts her off. "You're an only child; you can't even relate. You know what you are, don't you, CeCe? You're a _wannabe_. You're a Mona. And... Well, we've already disposed of her."

Before CeCe can respond, Wren chimes in. "Melissa. We've all heard enough."

"Yeah? Well I haven't," Spencer says. "I don't even know who you are."

"You want to know who I am?" Melissa turns on her sister, her eyes wild. "I'm your _fucking_ sister! I'm the one who watched you get all the attention, not only from Mom and Dad, but from teachers and boys and the whole fucking town! I was drowning in the sea of Spencer and just when I thought they threw me a life preserver, just when I thought I'd never have to deal with you again, right after they carted you away, what happened? Mom and Dad got divorced. Mom spent hours and hours bawling her fucking eyes out over a sweater of yours in the laundry and Dad boxed up your things and his simultaneously. I couldn't go back to that house because it was a mausoleum dedicated to Spencer. So don't you see? Don't you get it? I've wanted what you had since this started!"

"What did I have, Melissa?" Spencer exclaims incredulously. "Anxiety attacks? An amphetamine addiction? A mental illness? Why the hell would you want that?"

"You had _everything_ ," Melissa seethes. "You were a mistake; you know that, right? After Jason, Mom and Dad were going to get a divorce. She knew but she pretended she didn't, just to keep up appearances. They were going to move on and keep up their jobs and raise their one perfect kid and then dissolve their union quietly and secretly without anyone knowing. Everything was going accordingly, just as planned, and then the DiLaurentises moved back to town. Jessica claimed it was a harmless coincidence that they bought the house right next door, but everyone knew why. Everyone knew she was just torturing Dad with seeing his son grow up before his eyes."

"Mom was _pissed_ ," Melissa spits. "I was five years old and I can remember them screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, smashing plates, slamming doors… And then they were quiet. I was afraid they killed each other. I went to their room to check on them… and they were _kissing_. There's a very fine line between love and hate, Spencer; nine months later, you were born. And you were a fucking disaster. Did they love you? Sure, but not the way they loved me. They loved you the way you're _supposed_ to love your child, as though they're God's gift to freaking humanity. I was just an afterthought, after you. You could do no wrong."

"I'm sorry," Spencer cuts her off. "Did we grow up in the same household? You were the perfect one. You were the one they always doted on and I was left not able to measure up. Are you so blinded by rage that you can't see that? Or has he brainwashed you?"

Wren snorts beside her and Melissa's nostrils flare. "I _hated_ you. You stole everyone from me and just when I thought you might steal Wren, too, he pulled me aside and told me who he _really_ was. How could I not join him, after that? Taking down Ali and the four of you is what I _lived_ for. You have no _idea_ how many lives you've ruined with all the nonsense you've spread and yet, you're walking around like _you're_ the victims. It makes me sick!"

"Now, now, Melissa," Wren pats her shoulders. "Let's not get all worked up."

"I believed you," Spencer says and then grows enraged. "All this time, you said you were on my side! You told me you buried Bethany to protect me and I believed you! I defended you to my friends! How could you do this to me? To your own _sister_?"

Melissa's eyes are wild. "You should've stayed away, Spencer. You should've stayed away."

"Away from what?" Spencer shouts. "You? Mom and Dad? If they're the ones you have a problem with, then _why_ are you taking it out on me?"

Melissa cackles and asks, "Do you want to know what their problem was, Spencer? Why they should've never had kids in the first place?"

Spencer wonders, warily, "What? What is it?"

"A little word- competition," Melissa explains. "They were so used to always competing for the best case, always competing for the win, always competing with _each other_ , that they always assumed that parenting worked the same way. Well, newsflash to them- parenting isn't a competition, is it, Spence? If it was, they'd come in dead last."

"But always before mine, of course," Wren pipes up and Melissa snickers again.

"Oh, of course, dear!" She gets back to Spencer. "But here's the thing about competition- you and I? We yearned for it. And we were taught from a very young age to compete with one another, because they always taught us that their love was conditional. That we wouldn't get shit if we couldn't prove that we were somehow better than each other. If you got an A, I was supposed to get an A plus. If you got second, I needed to get first. And it became a game, see? All life's a game, some way or another. Who could do better? Who could get Mom and Dad's love first? Who could get more of it and who would be left without?"

Spencer frowns. She's never seen her sister so out of her right mind. Melissa continues, "And along the way, if you got love one day and I didn't, I learned to hate you for it. And that's what happened to us, Spencer, if you're curious. We fell into hatred because Mom and Dad proved time and time again that they could only love one kid at a time. And if that kid was getting love, what was the other one getting?"

"Nothing," Spencer replies reluctantly and Melissa grins wickedly.

"Exactly," She says. "So it's a game, see? Just a simple game. And you _always_ won. If you got love, I didn't. If I got love, they still somehow looked at you and gave _you_ the attention I deserved, and asked you why you couldn't be more like me. And then, you changed the game. You changed the rules for your benefit. You decided to fall apart in more ways than I would've thought possible and Melissa got pushed aside, shoved out the door, because suddenly, poor little Spencer had a drug problem. And suddenly, poor, fragile Spencer was in a sanitarium, drooling over pudding. And then, poor, weak Spencer was kidnapped and held hostage by some masked maniac. And where was Melissa during all of this? Wait... Melissa _who?_ "

"You're sick," Hanna growls because Spencer can't. Spencer's pale as a sheet.

"Am I? Am I _really_?" Melissa wonders. "Because I'm pretty sure it's just survival of the fittest, and Spencer, darling, you've proved time and time again that you're _not_."

"I don't..." Spencer manages, shaking her head. "I can't..."

"Oh, honey, did I render you speechless? There's a first," Melissa grins. "What have I told you before, Spence? There's a point where you go from survivor to predator... And I guess that's what happened with us."

"Whoever said blood is thicker than water," CeCe adds. "Never met a DiLaurentis or a Hastings."

"Marvelous, darling," Wren says affectionately as Melissa nods at him. "Simply marvelous. Feel that? I've got chills."

Melissa then frowns. "You can't feel chills, dumbass."

"Goose bumps, then."

"You have got to be the most incompetent-"

"I just would like to point out," CeCe loudly interrupts. "That _I_ would never talk to you like that.

Wren frowns and Melissa's eyes flash once more. "When I want _your_ opinion, I will beat it out of you. Literally speaking, dear."

Spencer's head is swimming with the words of Melissa's betrayal and Aria puts an arm around her in support, saying, "I don't even know what to believe anymore."

"You've told us so much but in that, you've told us nothing," Hanna says. "Whose story is true?"

"You've never heard of multiple versions of the same story?" Wren asks. "Come on, love. It's not _that_ difficult to follow along."

"CeCe spun us a web of lies," Emily says. "And we _knew_ she wasn't –A. How can we prove you are?"

"Because what she told you is true," Wren says. "It's my story even if she got some of the details wrong. You wanted the truth, you wanted some answers, well, here they are."

"Daddy Dearest always looked at me like I was some kind of vermin," Wren explains. "He would always explain me away. 'Charles is troubled,' he'd say. 'Charles doesn't understand. Charles needs help.' He'd talk about me like I was a thousand miles away, like I was in another room, like I was already gone, when I was standing right there beside him. And all his friends and neighbors and colleagues would nod understandingly and second glance at me or give me sympathetic looks and I hated them for it. He never understood me. I can't say anyone ever has."

"I understand you," Melissa says dotingly, as though she's flipped a switch somewhere deep inside. "I get it, Charles. I do."

"Ah Melissa," Wren smiles and it's sickeningly sweet. "I know _you_ do."

He caresses her face with a gloved hand and kisses her and Spencer's internally vomiting. It makes her skin crawl. Seeing this crazed, obsessed version of her sister is disturbing, to say the least. If anyone had told Spencer that this is how her sister would appear to her after five years, she would've called this person a bold-faced liar. She had dreams of what Melissa would turn out to be; a successful businesswoman in politics or law, married to a humble guy she can step all over and maybe she'll have a kid or two, someone a nanny cares for but she still gets all the credit. Never in a million years would Spencer have pictured her sister more addicted, more mentally ill, than herself. Yet, here she is, a wild, awful look in her eyes, and following Wren around like a lost and loyal puppy. It makes Spencer gut-wrenchingly sad. Her elder sister deserves so much more.

"Ali screamed more than anyone I've ever heard," Wren goes on. "As a baby, all she did was scream. High-pitched, guttural, ear-splitting screams that made you want to jump off a rooftop. Or, at least, pitch her off one. I just wanted to shut that kid the fuck up. And so I grabbed the little jellyroll and I dropped her into a tub full of hot water, hoping that might drown out, quite literally speaking, her fucking yelling. Nope. The opposite; the dumb bitch starts _screeching_. Of course, now she's underwater, so she's choking, too. And I'm just watching and Daddy Dearest comes and rescues her and I'm shipped off to Radley the next day like some kind of forgotten parcel. I still heard her screaming. Every day, every night. And I wanted to _kill_ her. I couldn't quiet the screams."

"Aw, but she's not screaming now, is she?" Melissa interjects, flashing a winning smile towards Alison, who's watching them all, terrified. "What? You got something you'd like to say, honey?"

Stalking over to her, she rips the duct tape clean off her mouth, bringing tears to the girl's eyes. Melissa spits, " _Say it_."

" _Fuck you_ ," Alison sneers and it's clear she's taken Melissa aback. "Fuck you both. Fuck all three of you. You tried to _kill_ me! You tortured me and my friends! And you wonder why I turned out the way I did? If I'm like this... It's only what you've made me. Look at what you've done; look what you made me _become_."

"Oh, Ali, that's not fair," CeCe teases. "Come on, we didn't start playing you like a fiddle until you were a teenager. You had sixteen years in between to become a good person and you just didn't. You know who I blame? Your parents. One's irrelevant, one's a fuck-up and one's in Radley... The DiLaurentises did an _excellent_ job, might I tell you!"

"I was in there a while," Wren says, continuing. "Mother visited once a week and she always smiled too wide and never embraced me long enough, like she was embarrassed or guilty or something for being there. I don't think she ever told Daddy Dearest that she came. She never brought Ali or Jason, except for the one time she threw me a thirteenth birthday party, the only one I ever had. We had cake and punch, we played pin the tail on the donkey and whacked at a piñata, and Mother got the whole thing on tape like we were a real family. Ali was four and all she cared about was her dumb dolls. She had two of them and by the end of the day, I was so mad that her attention wasn't on me, that I plucked the head off of one and pulled the hair out of the other one. I thought I was clever, but the screaming was back."

"I kept the dolls in a box under my bed," Wren continues. "I had a nurse who was a real flake but she was training a bunch of interns, just out of med school. One of them always rubbed me the wrong way- Eddie Lamb."

"Eddie?" Spencer asks. "No, Eddie's great."

"Yeah," Aria agrees. "There's a _reason_ he doesn't trust you."

"And so I watched him and I observed him and I decided that when I got out of there, someday, I was going to be a doctor," Wren steamrolls over their outbursts. "I was going to reinvent my identity, become a brand new person, and leave the DiLaurentises behind. But time passed and I wasn't getting out of there anytime soon. Eddie became a full-time resident and watched me like a hawk and I was bound to my room or the rec room, nowhere else. I got older and more cynical and I thought I was never getting out of there. Mother stopped visiting and there was no way out. I was thinking of ending it."

"I was twenty-two when I met her," Wren smiles fondly at the memory. "She'd just been transferred in from a different facility after a complication with other patients. I was in the rec room reading _Lolita_ , a favorite of mine, when she came in, all thunderous movements and death in her eyes. I had heard she killed her entire family, Lizzie Borden style. I was entranced. She had long, curly blonde hair and she was eleven, maybe twelve at the most. She caught me staring and told me she'd punch my lights out if I wasn't careful. I believed her."

"Her name was Bethany Young and she was out of her fucking mind," Wren explains. "She was everything I aspired to be with a vengeance I didn't yet have. We became fast friends. Apparently, she'd stabbed her twin sister to death on Halloween and when her parents came home, they met the same fate. She was found, hours later, playing with dolls at her kitchen table as her family bled out around her. And yet, she wasn't the least bit concerned. She was fucking crazy in the most honest definition of that term, and yet, I couldn't stay away. She was inspiring. She was devious. And if I could love, I think I would have loved her."

Melissa scoffs and mutters something, incoherent. Wren shoots her a look. CeCe smiles wryly.

"But she was a child," Emily shakes her head. "She was still a child and you were a grown adult."

"Are you surprised?" Melissa chuckles, envious. "Look at his track record, sweetie. You know he's got a thing for the young ones."

Spencer's almost sure she's going to vomit, now. "You're sick."

Hanna groans. "I'm going to _be_ sick."

"Surely, loves, you've all read _Lolita_ ," Wren tells them. "As we've learned from that book, age doesn't matter when it's love."

"No," Spencer disagrees. "No, you've read it wrong. Humbert Humbert is an unreliable narrator who falls in love with a twelve-year-old girl as a thirty-something-year-old man. He rapes her innumerous times and she does not return his feelings. He's a pedophile. And so are you."

His eyes flash with anger. "That's _not_ how it goes."

"That's exactly how it goes."

"I told you," CeCe says. "She's more than just a pretty face."

"Anyway," Wren presses on, thoroughly annoyed at having been interrupted. "She liked to play games, too, and she had dolls she'd play nicely with, one day, and then stab with scissors the next. She could manipulate, but she was never manipulated. I liked that about her. She played the game, but no one dared to play a game on her. She'd pick out a patient at Radley, decide she hated them, and then she'd torture and bully them endlessly for no good reason. Either they went further insane and attempted to off themselves, or they just crumbled mercilessly in her palms. Either way, it was a delight to watch. She always took so much pleasure in her work and I always took so much pleasure just watching it."

"We used to talk all the time about getting out of there, becoming new people," Wren dreams. "Mother visited before the accident and I could tell she didn't like what my new friend was doing or what she was putting in my head. I didn't care; I was entranced. We'd sneak out, up to the roof, and dream about jumping off and flying, far, far away. Of course, we never did, but that became our spot. We'd meet up there in between visiting hours and third shift, when the nurses were changing out, and we never got caught. It became our routine. And then, one night, she turned on me, just as she had the other patients. I became her target and she bullied and tortured me in ways I had only witnessed, not experienced. But I wasn't like the others. I fought back. And it scared her."

"It's why she blamed the whole thing on me," Wren says. "I don't remember much about Marion Cavanaugh, to be honest. She came to Radley when I was in my early twenties and she was quiet and mild-mannered and there was, really, nothing wrong with her. I heard the rumors; she was clinically depressed and her husband had committed her to get her out of his hands. Whether it was true or not is still beyond me, but that seems like a good reason to be depressed anyway. She had a kid who visited religiously; imagine my surprise, Spencer, when I later learned it was the carpenter! Regardless, she kept out of everyone's way and thus, she became Bethany's next target. She began to bully Marion incessantly, so much so that even her doctors noticed, and it was amusing, to say the least. Did she deserve it? No. But none of Bethany's targets ever did."

Spencer feels bile begin to rise in her throat and anger fuels her veins, tears stinging her eyes. She can't say anything; Wren continues. "We were up on the roof that night and it was already cold, for October. I was talking about escaping again and Bethany looked so incredibly _bored_. And the thing about Marion's depression is that it made her sleepwalk… Somehow, she ended up there with us. And then Bethany got this look in her eye that I'd never seen before; she looked _murderous_. And the second Marion got close enough to the edge-"

"Stop," Spencer chokes out. "Please, don't finish that sentence."

"All this time," Emily shakes her head. "All this time, Toby thought his mother killed herself."

"He thought she left him on purpose," Spencer cries. "She was sleepwalking; she didn't even know what was happening."

"It's been ten years, Spencer," Melissa says condescendingly. "I'm sure he's made peace with it."

Spencer's head snaps in her sister's direction, her words fiery. "You _never_ make peace with that."

"She blamed me, can you believe it?" Wren then says. "They found her body and the two of us on the roof and the bitch _blamed me_. I hated her. I wanted to ring her fucking neck. It was her word against mine and even though her reputation preceded her, they still believed every word out of her fucking mouth. She was transferred to a new facility and in storms Wilden, first case of his new job, to cover up the whole thing. He's the one who came up with the suicide story and so Radley got to continue being an establishment and Wilden was smug and smarmy as fuck. Every time I saw him, he gave me that look. I killed him, just for that."

"And Garrett, too?" Aria asks. "Are you the one I stabbed on the Halloween train?"

"That was me," Wren says ruefully. "Thanks for the hole, by the way. I was a fake doctor, you know. I barely knew how to stitch myself back up."

"So you got out of Radley how?" Hanna asks. "Because Wilden covered it up but you weren't still a patient there, after that."

"After that, Mother took me home," Wren says. "Except home was Aunt Carol's house which smelled and looked like death. I was done with that whole fucking family, trying to treat me like I didn't exist, and so I decided to follow their lead. I no longer existed; Charles became Wren Kingston, a respected doctor who was well liked by everyone. It stuck. And just to add to the charm, I became British, too. Everyone trusts a Brit, right?"

"Jenna once said, _I bet even a lie would sound good in that accent_ ," CeCe quotes. "And it does. It really does."

"Except I needed to find her," Wren continues. "I needed to find Bethany and I needed to make her _pay_. And this whole time was very confusing. I had just met CeCe and was beginning to get involved with Melissa while still hating Alison with a burning passion. And I don't remember too much of that night. I blacked out, I think, the moment I saw Bethany. Or, who I _thought_ was Bethany; I wanted her dead, but all I remember is Mother's piercing scream and the smell of the Earth she was digging up and her repeated sobs, _what have you done?_ And I didn't know what I'd done until she started heaping dirt on top of Alison's body. I'd just killed my sister and though she wasn't the blonde girl I was targeting, I'm not going to lie and say she wasn't next."

"Meanwhile," Melissa cuts in. "I heard you bitches arguing and I went outside to see what all the fuss was about. It was annoying and it was distracting and I had already dealt with Garrett and Jenna and their stupidity. I didn't want to deal with it again. But when I got out there, you were nowhere to be found. Instead, Mona was there, and she had this crazed, glassy look in her eyes and she was holding a shovel. Her hands were shaking. They wouldn't stop shaking. And so I asked her, 'What are you doing here? What do you want?' And do you know what she said to me?"

Spencer shakes her head. "I couldn't even begin to guess."

"'I did a bad thing,' she said," Melissa recites from memory. "'I did a bad thing and she's gonna tell.' She was off her rocker; I had no idea what she was talking about. But she wouldn't stop staring at the bushes and when I followed her eyes, I noticed they were twitching. Moving, as though someone were eavesdropping right behind them. And before I could ask her who she was talking about, she began to sing. _If you go out in the woods today, you'd better not go alone. It's lovely out in the woods today, but safer to stay at home_."

Chills run up the girls' spines and Melissa continues. " _Beneath the trees where nobody sees they'll hide and seek as long as they please. 'Cause that's the way the teddy bears have their picnic_. She was Radley ready from the start and she lifted that shovel just as a blonde head popped out of the bushes. _Alison_. Suddenly, everything she'd been saying made sense. She was there to kill her but at the last second... she dropped the shovel. She couldn't do it. And you know what? I did."

"You..." Emily trails off, shaking her head. " _You_ killed Bethany?"

"I thought it was Ali; it looked just like you," Melissa says, her eyes murderous as she takes in the blonde before her. "I didn't think you killed her, Spencer; in fact, I _know_ you didn't. I smacked that girl over the head because I was _done_ with her trying to endlessly ruin our family, trying to steal Ian from me, trying ruin you in the way only I could."

"Unbelievable," Spencer says. "You were a better sister to _Mona_ than you were to me."

"But she wasn't dead, was she?" Melissa frowns. "I rolled her over and her face wasn't quite right. She might have had the hair and the top and the general air of mystery, but she wasn't Alison. She wasn't who I thought she was. I looked up at Mona and her face looked exactly the same. 'It isn't her!' I screamed and Mona shook her head, let out an animalistic wail, going, ' _You did a bad thing! You did a bad thing!_ ' And so there I was, holding the bloody shovel and kneeling over a girl's body and when I looked back, Mona was gone. I never saw her again."

"But I did," Wren smiles fondly. "I saw her leaving just as I was approaching my house, where we'd agreed to meet, Bethany and I, to hash it out. And out runs this plucky little girl with pigtails, the same one I remember as having been the one to torture Alison for a year. I stopped her, I asked her what was wrong, and she said, 'I came to kill her! I came to kill her!' I patted her on the shoulder and nodded. I understood; I'd come for the same task, after all. 'Don't worry,' I told her. 'You've done alright. You've done alright.' And then she looked up and told me, 'In motion, go under in less than yourself.' It didn't make sense. She seemed to like that idea. And when I killed her- sorry, Mel, when _we_ killed her- I didn't hesitate to thank her. If it weren't for her, this game might have never been played."

"In motion, go under in less than yourself," CeCe repeats and then cackles loudly. "Kind of poetic, don't you think?"

Hanna then says, quietly, "I'm guilty."

All three heads snap in her direction. "You're what?"

"That's what she was really telling you," Hanna then explains. "It's a little game we used to play, she and I. Take the first letter of each word and make something new out of it. It was like speaking in code."

"No one to save Ali from evil," Spencer adds. "Not safe. Of course, that could be anything."

"Where were we? Maya's away sleeping sweet, until Garrett's all rosy, count on me," Hanna concludes and then, a bit softer. "It was kind of our thing."

"Miss Aria, you're a killer, not Ezra's wife," Aria remembers fondly. "Maya knew."

"What did Maya know?" Emily wants to know. "Is that what got her killed?"

"Yes," The answer comes to them, but it's from an unlikely supplier- Alison. "Maya knew I was still alive."

" _What?!_ " All four girls exclaim simultaneously. "How?"

"She was staying at Noel Kahn's cabin, trying to escape that psychopath from True North," Alison explains steadily. "If you remember, I was staying there, too. I tried to keep myself out of sight, but it's not that big of a place. She was going to tell you... But she couldn't get back to Rosewood. She never got the chance. He found her before she could find him."

"Unbelievable," Emily shakes her head. "You saw Maya... You practically _knew_ her and you never told me."

"How could I have told you?" Alison shoots back. "When would I have gotten the time?"

"You _make_ time for something like that."

"Uh, girls?" CeCe cuts in. "Did I miss the part where Charles said 'the end'?"

"Thanks, doll," Wren says. "Now this is all very touching, but last time I checked, this was _my_ story, not yours. I don't even remember where we were, now."

"I buried that bitch alive for you," Melissa reminds him. "And never so much as got a thank you."

"Right, right, well... I delighted in the fact that she was gone, out of my way, forever," Wren continues. "I was finally free of the burden I'd been carrying around for _years_. And yet… I still felt empty. I had nothing left. Bethany was gone, Ali was gone, and there was no one left to play the game. I went to Ali's funeral and I saw the four of you and it dawned on me. You bitches were next. And so I planned and I slaved and I scrimped and I saved and meanwhile, Mona was doing her thing and bullying you until she lost her mind doing so. And when she did, I sent CeCe in to steal the game from her and when she called her Alison, well… I knew she was still alive, somewhere."

"And then the game got interesting," Wren says excitedly. "We played together for a while, but when she let Toby and Spencer off the hook _so easily_ , I knew she couldn't be trusted. The game was getting out of my hands. People were dying and it was exciting, but you were fighting back and you were figuring things out and I had to stop it. And that's where the dollhouse came in. If I kept you there, so perfectly still, we could play the game _forever_."

"You should've seen your fucking faces," CeCe laughs delightedly. "You were all so devoted to each other that you almost _couldn't_ choose who to torture!"

"Yeah," Melissa agrees, turning to her sister. "But you adapted well, I think. A few more weeks in there and we could've kept you forever."

"You knew," Spencer seethes, disgusted. "You went home to Mom and Dad and pretended to care that I was missing... And you knew all along where I was. You were a part of it!"

"Oh, Spence, don't pretend like this is some Greek tragedy," Melissa shakes her head. "Loved ones betraying you is sort of commonplace with you, isn't it?"

"'Will you just tell me that what I saw tonight wasn't real?'" CeCe says in an awful imitation of Spencer's voice. "'Please tell me that there's more to the story! That there's something that I don't know!'"

Her heart pounds in her chest and she finds herself saying, "That was different."

"Really?" Melissa drones, examining her cuticles, uninterested. "Seems the same to me."

"It was all psychological," Wren grins wickedly as Spencer tries to come to terms with this brand new information. "Once you were all in there, you know. I never hurt you. You're all still _alive_. For now, at least. I can't say I need to keep _all_ my dolls. A good purge never hurts anyone."

"But why?" Hanna needs to know when it's all over. "Why us? If you hate your parents and Jason and Ali, okay, but what have _we_ ever done to you?"

"Yeah," Emily agrees. "Until recently, we didn't even know you existed."

"Well that's exactly it, isn't it?" Wren wonders. "You don't know. You're in the dark. And that's the most infuriating thing of all."

He steps closer to her and places a hand on her shoulder. She squirms. "Emily, sweet, sweet Emily. You were the weakest link right from the start because you always believed the good in people. It's mind-numbingly stupid. People are evil, love, and there's no changing it. You can't get through this life without a good lesson. It became my duty to teach it to you the hard way."

Next to her, Aria shudders and Wren addresses her next. "Dear Aria, your stupidity is what exasperated me the most. You may have been told that your impulsivity is charming, but it's, indeed, reckless and you have no idea how many people you're hurting with your actions. I had to show you and it may not have been in ways you agreed with, but I think it worked, don't you?"

Wren reaches forward and tucks a lock of hair behind Hanna's ear, who writhes at his touch. "Oh, Hefty Hanna, how much I felt for you. And how equally I loathed you. Doomed to be in Ali's shadow from the start, like myself, and yet able to call her out and stand up to her so incredibly easily, it should be impossible. You reminded me the most of her out of any of the girls, and for that, you had to be taught a lesson. Naughty girls need a punishment, after all."

One of his hands comes to caress Spencer's cheek and she smacks his hand away. This only encourages him. "And last but not least, Spencer. You had so much potential and you refused to use it. Your issue is that you love too hard and feel too much and for some reason, you'd easily throw yourself into danger for others. That's careless; much of your behavior is careless. And I stand by my further statement- I fell for the wrong sister- but you turned me down. If that doesn't call for my behavior, I don't know what will."

They feel used and violated. Spencer would like to take a dozen showers, but instead, she asks, "So now what? What do we do from here?"

Wren considers this. "I think we're all trying to figure out a solution to that problem."

"We can't just go back to normal life knowing what we know," Hanna states. "You're not going to just play the game as normal, are you?"

"No. You know what? I'm not," Wren says. "Because it's over, now, isn't it? At least that's what Alison had said. She sought me out, defied all her agents in charge and when she burst in, all fire and rage, you know what she said to me? 'Game over, Charles.' She actually said that. She had to _audacity_ to use my own terms against me!"

"But why?" Melissa asks, stalking closer to Alison. "Why should the game be over, huh? Who told you that _you_ were in charge now?"

"Oh that's right," Wren adds, he and Melissa on either side of the bound girl. "You've _always_ been in charge, huh? You're the fearless leader; the head bitch in charge. Kick ass and take names. Don't take anyone's shit. But who are you fooling? And who would fall for it?"

"I'll tell you who would fall for it," Melissa replies. "Four innocent, lonely little girls who didn't like their own lives and decided to accept the ones created for each of them by this little bitch right here. Are you going to deny it, girls? You couldn't do what you wanted to do, so you did what she wanted? You became what _she_ made you?"

"Well guess what, Ali?" Wren asks, reaching out and forcing her eyes to lock with his. "You don't get to do this any longer. You don't get to call the shots. _I_ do. And you won't be bullying anyone anymore. Not where you're going."

Melissa slips a knife out of her pocket and Emily gasps. "Oh my god."

"Ten little, nine little, eight little Alisons," Wren sings slowly and Melissa slices the knife across Alison's calves and thighs, hacking her up.

"What are you _doing_?" Hanna exclaims.

"Seven little, six little, five little Alisons," Wren continues and Melissa moves upward, to her waist and stomach, her wrists and arms, blood spilling onto the carpet as the blonde squirms against her restraints and cries in pain.

"Leave her alone!" Aria shrieks and even CeCe's eyes are wide. She had clearly not been in on _this_ plan.

"Four little, three little, two little Alisons..." Wren trails off and Melissa gets her chest and collarbone, her cheek and earlobe, and just as she's going for the throat- _no Alison, no more!-_ a gun cocks before them and Wren and Melissa's eyes rise.

"Stop," Spencer orders them, the gun Toby's given her shaking between her palms. "Drop the knife. Seriously, leave her alone."

For a moment they regard her with surprise. Then, Wren bursts into laughter. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Annie Oakley."

"Where'd you get that? A Halloween costume?" Melissa taunts her. "Do you even know how to use a gun, Spencer?"

Spencer releases the safety and asks, "Want to find out?"

"She won't have to," CeCe replies and her own gun is trained on Spencer's form in seconds. "Drop it, Hastings. _Now_."

"Let go of Ali," Spencer demands. "Stop slicing her up like a pig for slaughter and leave her the _fuck_ alone!"

"Wait, let's all just calm down," Emily says uneasily and Aria's nodding rapidly beside her.

"Yeah, no one has to get hurt, here."

CeCe shakes her head. "I beg to differ."

"Spence," Hanna whispers anxiously. "Where did you get a _gun?_ "

"Emily said we needed protection," Spencer says and her voice is even, though every nerve in her body is trembling. "I brought protection."

"Ladies, ladies, please," Wren sighs and stands, coming to rest in between CeCe and Spencer. "Let it go, both of you, before our conversation gets nasty."

"Look, I have no personal liking for Hastings senior over there," CeCe nods towards the elder girl, who growls in response. "But you do, and if you don't want anything to happen to her, then let me-"

"Let you what? Blow Spencer's head clean off?" Wren chuckles and Spencer's heart is pounding. "Cool it, CeCe. That gun isn't even loaded."

CeCe drops it, opens the chamber, and confirms Wren's theory. "You gave me an unloaded gun? How _dare_ you!"

"It's nothing against you, sweetheart," Wren says. "But we all know you can be a bit trigger happy, and-"

"Oh, give me some ammo, I will _show_ you trigger happy!"

"Tick tock, little liar," Melissa then coos, her knife at the base of Alison's neck. "You know, in a few minutes, you'll be with your loving mother. She was a real bag of tricks, I'll tell you. Always sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Always willing to break her neck for the chance to ruin my family and yours in the process. Well, I hope it was worth it. In the end, we were the ones doing the neck breaking."

Wren chuckles at her use of the term and Spencer raises her arms again. "Did you go deaf, Melissa? Drop the knife. Back away from Ali."

"Spence, it's okay," Alison says weakly. "Let her get it out of her system."

"Or what?" Melissa wonders, rising to her full height. "You're going to kill me? You'd never do that. You don't have the guts."

Spencer warns, "Don't tell me what I won't do. You have no idea who I am."

"Don't I? Wrong, _so_ wrong, my dear; it appears that it is _you_ that doesn't know who _I_ am," Melissa grins. "I, on the other hand, know perfectly well who you are. You know what the difference is between you and me, Spencer? You're soft. It's why you allowed Alison to control your life instead of fighting back. It's why you let Toby come crawling back, time and time again. It's why you fell prey to amphetamines and mental illness and why you couldn't rise above the struggle. You're soft. You're addicted to the struggle, but you're weak. And you _always_ will be."

Rage blinds her and she pulls the trigger. Melissa flinches but nothing else happens. Her sister chuckles and says, "Uh oh. The gun misfired. But I had you there for a second, didn't I? Let's face it, Spencer. I'm going to-"

 _Bang_. She pulls the trigger again and the girls all jump out of their skin and Spencer gets her, this time. The bullet whizzes through the air and clips Melissa in the right shoulder and she's on the ground, moaning in pain, in seconds. CeCe's the first to utter, "Holy shit."

"You fucking bitch," Melissa croons. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

"Melissa!" Wren shrieks and comes to her aid, Alison momentarily forgotten. "Melissa, just stay with me. Look at me, it's going to be alright, if I can just-"

"You aren't a doctor, you asshole!" Melissa swats at his hands with her one good arm and then groans. "She's dead. She's _fucking_ dead!"

"Oh my God," Spencer's repeating over and over and Hanna takes the gun from her hands as Aria and Emily come to embrace her. "Oh my God. Oh my God. I shot her. I shot her!"

"It's okay," Emily says and the others look at her like she's grown a second head.

"It's _not_ okay!" Spencer insists.

"Em, she just shot her _sister!_ " Aria states and Emily defends herself.

"Her sister is holding a knife to Alison's throat!"

"Wait," CeCe calls over the commotion. "What's that?"

And just before they can question it, sirens sound down the street and grow louder and louder as squad cars get nearer. Spencer's inwardly smiling through her panic; Toby had followed her lead, after all. CeCe looks alarmed, but Wren and Melissa appear oddly serene, as though they've expected this all along. Melissa says, prophetic, "Farewell, my friends. I bid adieu to you."

"I understand," Emily tries gently. Hanna shoots her an incredulous look. "I understand why you did what you did. But it doesn't have to be this way."

Aria nods. "Turn yourself in. It's the only way. The _honest_ way."

"Ah, but dear, haven't I told you that being honest gets you nothing?" Wren implores. "Life is but a spectacle and if you're not playing the game, than what are you living for, really?"

"Love," Emily offers. "Acceptance. Friendship. You don't have to do this."

"Oh, but we do, girls," He sighs. "Don't you know this is where it was headed all along? It was always going to end this way."

Wren stands and pulls on the chair Alison has been bound to all along. He extends his free hand to Melissa to help her up and she hobbles painfully beside him. "Shall we?"

Melissa nods, determined. "We shall."

The girls start towards the duo, but as CeCe eyes the back door, Hanna shakes her head, brandishing the gun she's taken from Spencer and stopping the conniving blonde in her tracks. "And where the fuck do you think you're going?"

 _This is the police! Come out with your hands raised! We've got you completely surrounded!_

"What are you going to do?" CeCe panics. "Let them capture me?"

"That sounds great, actually," Hanna smirks. "I'm sorry they didn't let you in on their masterful ending, but this one's just as good, for you."

As Wren and Melissa, with Alison under their arms, continue towards the staircase, Spencer shoots a look at Hanna and the blonde shakes her head. "Go. Don't worry- I've got her. She's not going anywhere."

Spencer nods and follows, just in time to see her sister and Wren at the base of the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"Don't do this," Emily pleads.

Aria shrieks, "It doesn't have to be this way!"

Spencer begs, "Leave her alone. It can't end like this. You don't have to end it like this."

 _Come out with your hands raised! You've got ten seconds before we come in!_

"Ah, but see, Spencer?" Wren says. "Human life is but a series of footnotes to a vast obscure unfinished masterpiece."

 _Ten! Nine! Eight!_

"What are you talking about?" Alison exclaims, writhing and wriggling to try and free herself. "Let me go!"

Spencer frowns. "It's from _Lolita_. Of course."

 _Seven! Six! Five!_

Wren smiles. "CeCe's right. You're smarter than we took you for."

Melissa scowls. "And what has that ever gotten her?"

"Ali!" Emily shrieks and Alison looks just as fearful.

"Stop! Let go of me!"

 _Four! Three! Two!_

With one last look at each of the girls, Wren tightens his hold on Alison, grab's Melissa's hand, and bounds up the staircase. Alison shouts, one final time, "No! Wait!"

The rest goes unheard by the three girls. They bound after the pair, sprinting through the house, running down the hallway, in an effort to stop them from what they're about to do. A door slams at the end of the long hallway and no matter what they do, they cannot seem to force it open. Outside, the FBI calls one, and the front door to the house splinters open and they can hear screaming accusations and CeCe's fright and thundering footsteps on the stairway. But that's not what they're focused on. Instead, the three girls are paralyzed in shock and in fear when they hear two gunshots ring from inside the locked room. They take a step back. They're too late. They were stupid and careless and reckless enough to believe that this wasn't going to end in an elaborate, high-speed chase, a sinful murder-suicide, and now they must come to terms with the situation at hand.

There's a long moment of silence and then they hear the lock click out of place. The door slowly opens and all four girls simultaneously hold their breaths. Alison emerges, shaky and covered with blood, her face pale and her eyes swimming with a world of terror. Aria says, "Ali…"

"Get them off me," She's struggling, ripping at her clothes, tearing at her skin. "Get them _off!_ "

"Get what off?" Spencer asks carefully. "The bindings? They're gone."

"Get it off!" She whines again and her voice is cold, not her own. "Get it off! Get it _off!_ "

"Ali," Emily says, shaking her head. "There's nothing on you."

"Help me!" Alison then says and she collapses in Emily's arms, dissolves into tears. "Help me get it off!"

"It's over, okay? It's over," Emily says and behind her, Spencer and Aria hold onto one another, trembling in a death grip. "It's finally over."


	14. Fourteen

**Good morning all! Well... This is it! We've come to the finish line on another story and reached the very last chapter. Yes, this is the part where I get weepy and grateful and start praising the shit out of all of you, so if you're sensitive to sap, feel free to skip ahead. Okay? Okay. For some reason, the feedback I got for this story seemed different than what I've gotten for my others, and I mean this in a good way. It must be because this story is different from my others, but you've all seemed to respond really well to it and of course, it's something I'll never understand but always appreciate. So I love you all, I hope you know that.**

 **This story is like my baby and I worked so hard on it and I'm so protective of it and I'll be sad to see it end. But you guys are really the reason that it had life to begin with. I really, really appreciate the support you've given me, regardless of whether or not you've reviewed, and I hope this last chapter does this story justice. It's super long, just like the last chapter, but I've been told this isn't an issue and that you like the longer ones haha. So thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading my story and I hope you enjoy this one. As my boss likes to say, see ya real soon! :)**

* * *

Fourteen

It's utter chaos. It feels like the entire world is moving and Spencer's standing completely still. She feels completely and wholly numb; never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined the scenario to have played itself out like that, and yet, it somehow makes perfect sense. Her head is swimming with information and she can't stop remembering details she'd care not to and there are police officers and FBI agents and detectives and medical examiners racing all around them. In the pandemonium, it seems everyone has forgotten they're there. The three girls are huddled around Alison, their tight-knit circle a physical one, now, and it's a good fifteen or twenty minutes before Lawson glances their way and realizes he has yet to deal with them. He seems overwhelmed, as always, and Spencer, not for the first time, wonders why a career in law enforcement is the one he chose.

"Girls," Lawson nods their way. "Thank goodness you're alright. Alison, we're going to have you looked over by the paramedics."

Alison is still hysterically sobbing and clawing at her body like her skin is on fire. "Get them _off_ me!"

Lawson, instead, turns to his team and shouts, "We need to secure the crime scene!"

A detective shouts, "I'm on it, sir!"

"Who's cataloging evidence?" Lawson then asks and when an agent raises her hand, he nods and implores, "And where are the medical examiners to deal with the bodies?"

"In the back, sir. They've already bagged them."

"I need a couple officers to take Miss Drake into custody," Lawson then orders and, as a hasty afterthought, adds, "And order her a psychiatric evaluation, will you?"

"Yes sir!"

Toby's in the corner with an agent Spencer doesn't recognize and it's the first time she's seen him since this all happened. He's got latex gloves on and is handling a bag of evidence and the agent beside him is turning over bullet shells in her hands. Lawson calls, "Bolton!"

The agent startles. "Yes, sir?"

"Will you and Detective Cavanaugh _please_ get these girls out of here?" Lawson orders. "I think they've seen enough."

"Yes, sir," She agrees. "Would you like me to remove them from the scene entirely?"

"I think that would be best." Lawson nods. "Return them to headquarters. We'll go from there."

She nods, too, and then turns towards Spencer and her friends. "Girls… You can follow me."

She leads them down the stairs, away from the scene, out of the house. Alison is torn away from Emily's protective grasp and loaded into a nearby ambulance and when Agent Bolton reaches a handful of squad cars, she stops walking and turns to ask them a few questions. "I know this is the last thing you feel like doing right now. But it's really going to help us get a better understanding of the situation at hand."

"He's a son of a bitch," Hanna exclaims. "Do you understand yet?"

"Hanna," Aria scolds, shaking her head. "That's not helping."

"Isn't he?" Hanna defends herself. "He lied about who he was, he tortured us for years for no good reason, he employed your _sister_ -"

"Hanna, that's enough," Emily chastises at the look on Spencer's face.

Hanna frowns. "I'm sorry, Spence. I didn't mean… I just… He's a son of a bitch."

Agent Bolton looks at a loss for words. She proceeds cautiously. "If you could just… Just walk me through it?"

"Sure," Emily nods, compliant. "We followed his lead-"

"Yeah, sure, we'll just walk you right through it," Hanna explodes. "God forbid, you actually _show up on time_."

"Hanna-"

"No, you know what? I'm done. I'm so fucking done," Hanna continues. "Wren Kingston is not Wren Kingston. In fact, he never even actually existed. You know who did? Charles DiLaurentis. He had a forgotten child complex and a hell of a lot of jealousy and he decided he wanted his little sister and all her friends to suffer. So he sent us through a scavenger hunt of –A's greatest hits today that led us straight here, where he force fed us cake and fruit punch before unleashing a sob story of bitching that could only come from being a DiLaurentis. And why did he waste years doing this? Because he's psychotic. Because he's so fucking obsessed with his sister and filled with unrelenting rage and the –A he signs his texts with? Not for anonymous. It's for Alison. Because everything he's done is in spite of her. Anymore questions?"

Agent Bolton looks flustered. "N-No. No, I think that's good."

"Good," Hanna says. "Now are we going to actually get out of here or are we just going to keep talking about it?"

They separate; the squad cars aren't big enough for all six of them. Agent Bolton takes Emily and Aria in one and Toby takes Hanna and Spencer in another. The ride is completely silent; thunder rumbles in the skies above them and every now and then, lightning flashes and illuminates the dark road, but rain never falls upon them. Toby's listening intently to the radio as different codes and alerts keep coming in and, from the backseat, Spencer watches him raptly. He's so focused; he always gives his all to every task he's assigned and this notion makes her both incredibly happy and terribly sad. She knows he's never enjoyed being an officer; he's only done it for her sake, after all. But they've gone and chased away her terrors and she's safe, now. She hopes it will be enough to make him call it quits.

Spencer leans forward, taps on the glass and he lends an ear. "Toby? Where are we going?"

"Back to the field office," He answers simply. "You'll most likely spend the night there while we figure out what to do next."

"You mean after all this time, all these years you were hoping to catch him," Spencer says. "You never had an actual plan for when you did?"

"No, we had a plan, Spencer," Toby replies. "We had multiple. But he was alive in all of them."

"Is she a friend of yours?" Hanna pipes up from beside Spencer. "That blonde?"

"Lydia?" Toby clarifies and Hanna nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess she is. We were kind of like partners throughout this whole thing, even though her department is at least ten levels above mine. We helped each other."

Hanna sighs. "I'm sorry I was a bitch to her."

Toby shrugs. "It's not the first time she's gotten slack. She gets it a lot."

Hanna insists. "Still."

After a beat, he asks, "Are you guys okay?"

"Just damn _peachy_ ," Hanna replies sardonically, her arms crossing over her chest.

Spencer wonders, "Why wouldn't we be? It's over, right?"

"Yeah, but..." Toby trails off and when he finds the strength, he says, "Your sister's dead, Spence."

Spencer shakes her head and focuses on the asphalt running free beneath them. "She's not my sister. I don't know who that is."

He pauses and she knows he's unsure of what to say next. "Still, I can't imagine what was going through your head."

"Yeah," Hanna adds. "Look, _I_ wanted to throttle her, but you... You haven't said a word."

"There's nothing left to say," Spencer sighs. "I don't want to talk about it. Are we almost there?"

Toby nods and gives in. "Almost."

In due time, they arrive back at the field office, back where this all began, and return to the conference room that feels just as stuffy as it had hours earlier. It's late. None of them have eaten and they're all thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Agent Bolton smiles at all of them apologetically and says, "We have a lot to cover, here, but mostly, you girls don't have to be involved. We may have a few questions now and then, but until morning, just sit tight. If you'd like to sleep, there are a few beds in the back for you. We'll wake you if needed."

"Do I get to go back to being Aria again?" Aria wonders. "Now that this is all over?"

"I have spoken with Agent Lawson about this matter personally," She replies. "He deems it necessary for you to resume your lives as normal and reassume your natural identities. The FBI is working closely together on this topic to ensure it is done right. In short, yes Miss Montgomery, you get to be yourself again."

She nods and exits and the girls are once again left behind. Emily turns to Toby and asks, "We're not allowed to leave the building, right?"

"Not just yet," Toby confirms.

"Is there any food in this place?" Hanna asks. "The last thing I ate were those cupcakes and I'll vomit before I have another one of those."

Toby smirks. "I'll see what I can do."

He squeezes Spencer's shoulder in passing and then he's gone. Silence ensues and Emily shivers before saying, "I'm exhausted but there's no _way_ I'm going to be able to sleep. I just keep replaying his story over and over again."

"Alison's in the hospital somewhere, all over again," Aria agrees. "It's just like last time."

"Yeah, but it's over now," Hanna says. "Finally. We can get our lives back. Our _real_ lives."

"Can we? Can we just show up to Rosewood like nothing's changed?" Emily implores.

Hanna scrunches her nose. "Ew. Not Rosewood. You couldn't _pay_ me to go back there."

"Me either," Spencer agrees. "I don't know what happens next, but I'm not going back to where this all began. Never again."

"Yeah, today's little scavenger hunt was enough Rosewood for a lifetime," Aria agrees. "But still, what do we do next? I mean, we have _nothing_. Madison has an apartment and a job, but Aria? Aria's broke. Aria has nowhere to live. Aria has literally nothing because Aria hasn't existed in five years."

"Yeah," Hanna nods. "What do we do next?"

"We move on," Spencer suggests. "Seriously. We take one day at a time. We _live_ for once. Isn't that what we wanted? A life? To be happy?"

"Who are you?" Emily asks teasingly. "And what have you done with the real Spencer Hastings?"

"Yeah, you're awfully chipper for someone who's just went through all we've been through tonight," Aria comments. "What gives?"

"I'm not going to pretend I'm not a Negative Nancy," Spencer grins. "But Kate wasn't. And I actually learned a lot from her. So what are we going to do, you ask? We're going to move on."

"Wow," Hanna exclaims. "This experience changed you."

"It changed all of us," Aria chuckles. "We'll never be the same."

"In some ways, that's kind of a good thing," Emily remarks. "I like your philosophy, Spence."

"If we can handle everything we've been through," Spencer counters. "Then what's real life, on top of all of that?"

They've got to hand it to her- she's got a point.

* * *

"I came as soon as you called," Jason exhales hurriedly, jogging up to Toby in the middle of the FBI office. "What's the emergency?"

"I'm glad you're here," Toby says and then realizes that, once again, his roommate is the last to know. "I need you to go on a massive fast food run."

Jason deadpans. "You called me here at one a.m. to bring you food? We need to redefine your concept of emergency."

Despite his friend's disappointment, Toby can't help but chuckle. "Look, I'll tell you everything. Just say you'll do it."

"Okay, okay, I'll do it." Jason nods. "Where? Checker's?"

"Steak 'N Shake," Toby decides. "Food's better and they're going to need the comfort food, okay?"

"Steak 'N Shake is on the other side of the city!" Jason exclaims. "Who needs comfort food that badly?"

"Don't freak out," Toby says. "It's the girls. They're back."

"The girls? All of them?" Jason's eyes widen. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well between arresting CeCe Drake and identifying Charles and Melissa's bodies, I didn't exactly get the chance," Toby replies and Jason's shaking his head, unable to process.

"Arresting CeCe… Identifying bodies…" He stutters. "You caught them? You actually did it?"

"Yeah. Two out of the three involved are dead," Toby says. "But it's finally over."

He proceeds to fill Jason in on the rest of the details very cautiously and very quietly; he's still in his place of work, after all, and he's still in uniform. Jason expresses shock in all the right places and outrage in all the others, and when it's over, he's still shaking his head. "I cannot believe this. I can't believe it."

"I know it might be hard for you," Toby nods. "He was your brother and all that-"

"No," Jason disagrees. "No. He was a _monster_. He gets no sympathy from me."

Toby doesn't know what to say; it's the opposite of the way he used to feel, after all. After a beat, Jason asks, "Are the girls okay?"

"Shaken, but physically speaking, they're unharmed," Toby informs him. "Alison's in the hospital. She's just getting looked at; they have no idea how long he held her for or what he did."

Jason nods his understanding. "Comfort food. Got it. Be back as soon as I can."

In twenty minutes, Toby leads Jason to the back conference room once more where the girls, looking weary as ever, barely lift their eyes in greeting. That is, until they see who and _what_ Toby's brought with him. Hugs are doled out to the blonde man who bears bags of greasy comfort food and when they're done greeting and thanking him, they tear into the paper bags. They're filled to the brim with burgers, fries, onion rings and chicken tenders and Jason's accompanied all of this with milkshakes of every flavor. They eat every single drop of food; neither a French fry nor an onion ring is spared. And when they're finished, they're sluggish and lethargic and once again, Toby mentions the beds in the back. Finally, they accept reluctantly and, despite protests of nightmares and terror, they're all asleep within minutes. Toby works until three a.m. before Lawson comes in, thanks him for all he's done, and forces him to go home.

He sleeps maybe an hour, maybe two. He's awake again before six and he can't seem to shut his brain off, can't seem to stop worrying. He knows it's over now, knows that Spencer is perfectly safe and that today, she'll likely regain her identity and be on her merry way. But still, a part of him is haunted by the past. He's terrified that this isn't actually _really_ over; that any minute now, they'll receive their next doomed text. Toby knows he's being paranoid and he knows he should try and move on, but another bit of him doesn't quite know what exactly had happened last night. He hasn't had the chance to sit down and ask any of them, at least not in the way he wants, and so, like the dollhouse, this is another situation in which he's been left in the dark. He doesn't know where Spencer's head is, either. She may have promised him a happily ever after, but that had been hours before her entire world fell apart. That fear alone keeps him awake until his alarm sounds.

The morning comes and the temperatures are still in the low twenties as January comes to a slow close. Toby heads to work, groggy and disoriented from lack of sleep, and Jason comes too, the Center for Missing and Exploited Children all over this miracle case. Some miracle, Toby thinks sarcastically, as he finds the girls bright-eyed and bushytailed, more or less, as they get fingerprinted and sign their lives away and questioned over and over. A few signatures, a couple check marks, and they're back. They're _them_ again. Toby watches from afar, sitting at his desk and poring through _mounds_ of evidence, and wishes them the best. He can't imagine being any one of them; gaining whole new identities, leaving their lives behind, creating whole new ones and then completely abandoning them, too. He has no idea how any one of them can be so strong, considering all they've been through, and he has to hand it to all of them. They're inspiring. He knows if he were in their positions, he'd never be able to do it.

They're dismissed moments later and they don't really know what to do next. He's typing away at his computer, transferring files, when Spencer approaches him. "Hi."

"Hey," He shoots her a smile. "I'm going to ask anyway even though it seems pointless- are you okay?"

"Hanging in there," She tells him. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

"In life?"

"No, right now," She says. "I'm trying to take it one day at a time. It's better for my anxiety."

Toby nods. "That makes sense. I know it seems mildly terrifying, but we'll figure it out. It'll be alright."

She nods too. "Yeah. Yeah, I hope so."

"If you want," He offers. "You're more than welcome to stay with us while you figure it out. You're always welcome; my home is your home."

Spencer smiles warmly. "Really?"

"Of course, Spence," Toby replies. "I know it's kind of a mess of a situation, right now, but you're not homeless."

"Thank you," She says quietly. "Seriously, thank you so much. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

"Oh my god," Hanna gasps from the other side of the room and when they turn in her direction, both sets of eyes widen.

It's Ashley Marin and her hair is longer and she's got many more worry lines on her forehead, but she cries at the sight of her daughter. Hanna falls into her arms and the two bawl together. Toby's eyes are on Spencer and the odd way her breath's hitched as she remains focused on the door. Byron and Ella are there moments later, and then Caleb appears, and Pam Fields, too. Wayne is nowhere to be found and with heartbreaking sobs, Pam has to tell Emily that she lost him two years ago overseas. In fact, Toby's focusing on his friend's heartbreak so much that he barely registers as Veronica enters the room and without hesitation, Spencer bolts in her direction. They embrace within moments and she tries; really she does. Toby can see the struggle on her face. But Veronica whispers something and then Spencer completely loses it. Peter's there too, behind them, and his arms encircle both his girls and there's nothing but hugging, crying and reunification.

"It's true," Toby hears Caleb exclaim, pulling back from his tight embrace with Hanna and running his hands all over her. "It's true. You're really here. You're still in one piece."

"How'd you know?" Hanna asks. There are tears in her eyes. "How did you find me?"

"Toby called," Caleb admits. "He said it was over. That the son of bitch is dead."

Hanna glances over her shoulder and shoots Toby a watery smile. He returns it joyously. Turning back to Caleb, Hanna confesses, "Caleb... These past five years, I-"

"Don't," Caleb stops her, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologize."

Hanna dares to ask, "How'd you know I was going to apologize?"

"Because I know you," Caleb says. "You think five years away changed that? What, did you do something you're not proud of?"

Her gaze shifts downward. "Yes."

"I don't care. So did I," Caleb tells her. "Remember that job I told you about? The one in New York?"

"Yeah," Hanna nods eagerly. "How's it going?"

"I got fired," Caleb tells her honestly and her eyes widen.

"What? Why?"

"The company I was working for was really high-tech, really secretive," He explains. "They had access to databases that shouldn't exist and software that was advanced and illegal, mostly. But it got you into the all the wrong places if you knew how to manipulate it. And I did. I got fired because... Because they caught me trying to hack into the FBI's system. I was trying to figure out where you were."

"Oh my God," Hanna blurts out before pulling his mouth to hers. In between kisses, she accuses him, "That's so stupid. Why would you do that? That's so stupid!"

"Because I was desperate," Caleb insists. "I love you so much, Hanna. I never stopped; not even for a second."

Hanna doesn't even get the chance to return the sentiment. They're back to kissing all over again. Toby chuckles and shakes his head. Of course he'd known his best friend had gotten fired; he'd been looking for work for _ages_ , now. He just hadn't known that had been the reason. It's not like he can blame his friend; Toby clearly put his own job on the line innumerous times in an effort to stay with Spencer. Toby goes back to work, but focusing is futile and he is soon interrupted again.

"So are you really going to do it?" A voice comes from beside his desk and snaps Toby from his reverie. It's Lydia.

"Do what?" He asks and she chuckles.

"You _know_ what," Lydia replies. "Quit. Leave the force. We'll miss you terribly, you know."

"I doubt that," Toby disagrees and she insists.

"No, we will," Lydia nods. "Lawson says all the time that you've got a lot of pluck and resolve. He doesn't give out compliments to just anyone."

"Oh, I know," Toby says. "And that's really nice of him, but… What reason do I have to stay? I wanted to end this and now it's over. I wanted to keep Spencer safe and she is. I really don't have anything else to do but turn in my badge."

"Well, I guess you're right, when you put it that way," Lydia shrugs and extends a hand. "It was a pleasure working with you, Toby. If you ever need a job, you'll always have a spot on my force."

"Thank you," He grins and ignores her handshake, pulling her in for an embrace. "You've been a great friend. Really."

"You too," She says genuinely. "I wish you all the best. I really do."

He goes back to his paperwork and tries to focus as best he can. It doesn't work very well. He's distracted by the girls in the corner of the room and Spencer in particular, of course. She keeps throwing him sidelong glances and he's embarrassed to admit he doesn't get the memo until much later that she wants him by her side. Her parents do not even seem slightly alarmed or surprised that they've already reacquainted themselves. His hand slips effortlessly into hers and her grip is tight. He doesn't quite understand why until he does. Veronica looks like she's going to be ill and Peter is repeating over and over. "It's not like her. That's not how she was raised. We didn't raise her to act like that."

 _Melissa_. Toby frowns and squeezes the hand in his. Veronica says, "I just can't believe that she was a part of this. I can't believe she could be so… so…"

"Vindictive. Envious. _Awful_ ," Peter frowns. "You could've died, Spencer. You could've died."

"I'm aware, Dad. I was there," Spencer sighs and she looks absolutely miserable.

Toby clears his throat and he knows it's not his place, but he says, "But she didn't, thankfully. It could've been a lot worse."

Peter exhales heavily and Veronica nods. "Well, of course, Toby. Of course it could've been worse."

"One can argue that it is," Peter then says. "I mean, Melissa, she's... She's _gone_. She's just gone. What do we do now?"

Veronica's got tears in her eyes, but she shakes her head, refusing to lose control. "I don't know. I just don't know."

"I mean, it's not supposed to go this way," Peter goes on. "You're not supposed to outlive your child."

"Yeah, well," Spencer puts in. "Your child's not supposed to plot the murder of her younger sister and her friends, but that's the way it played out. I know it might be hard to believe, Dad, but sometimes things don't go according to the Hastings' plan."

Peter stares at her, awed she could be so bold, and Veronica asks, "Spencer, what has gotten into you?"

"Look, I get that she was your daughter and I get that you're upset," Spencer spits back. "But she was going to _kill_ me. Do you understand that? Do you understand why maybe I won't be crying at the funeral?"

"This is outrageous," Peter tells her. "Spencer, this is your _sister!_ We didn't raise her to act the way she did, but we also didn't raise you to-"

"Mr. Hastings, with all due respect, people deal with grief in different ways," Toby cuts him off, as gently as he can. "And given the circumstances, it's perfectly normal for Spencer to be angry."

Both Hastings parents look at him as though he's just solved world hunger. Spencer smiles gratefully. Veronica sputters, "Well I… I guess we'll just have to deal with this. I don't know."

"I'm sorry," Spencer says softly. "I didn't mean to sound-"

"No, honey," Veronica shakes her head, stopping her at once. "You don't have to apologize. Not for what she did. Not for _anything_."

"You'll come home," Peter nods at once. "You'll come back with us and we'll sit down, as a family, and discuss this together. We'll plan a ceremony and we'll call the club and..."

Toby wonders if they've ever done _anything_ "as a family" and for reasons he didn't think bothered him anymore, his heart aches. Spencer's already shaking her head. "Dad, I'm not coming home. I'm not going back."

"What?" Peter implores. "Of course you are. Where are you going to go?"

"I can't go back to Rosewood," She insists. "I _can't_. It's the place of my nightmares, Dad. It's where _everything_ awful happened. If I never see it again, it'll be too soon."

"That's a bit dramatic," Peter sighs. "You've just been away five years. Where are you going to go?"

Spencer glances at Toby and smiles the tiniest bit. "I thought I'd stay with Toby for a while. He lives here; in Philadelphia."

"I know, honey," Veronica smiles too. "And after all you've been through, you two deserve some time together."

Peter still looks exasperated. "But Melissa-"

"Melissa is our problem," Veronica addresses him. "She's not Spencer's. _We_ will deal with this. Let this poor girl have some peace."

Toby could kiss her goddamned feet right about now. He can tell her words have completely blown her daughter away and he wishes he could tell Spencer all the leaps and bounds Veronica's made as a person since Spencer's been away. "I'd like to be there. For the ceremony, I mean. I'd like to say goodbye."

"Of course," Peter nods, his ego bruised but still intact. "And you will be."

Ignoring him, Spencer turns to Veronica. "Mom… Thanks."

"Oh honey, I didn't do anything," Veronica insists and embraces her daughter tightly, the only one she has left. "But you can do something for me, in return."

Spencer nods slightly. "What?"

"Point me in the direction of the officers in charge," Veronica pleads. "I'd like to have a word with them."

They do so and when they've both left the immediate area, Toby turns to her and braces her frame, his hands on either side of her. "Are you okay?"

Spencer frowns. "Please stop asking me that."

"I'm sorry," He shakes his head. "I'm worried about you."

"I know, and you wouldn't be you if you weren't," Spencer says. "But I'm never going to get over this if you keep bringing me back."

"Okay," Toby backs off, his hands dropping from her. "But if you want to talk about it-"

"I don't."

"But if you do-"

"I know who to bother," Spencer replies. "Trust me."

Toby shakes his head. "It's no bother. Trust _me_."

" _Spencer!_ "

They both whirl around and suddenly, a man unknown to Toby is scooping Spencer up in a bear hug. He's got an FBI badge identical to the one Lydia carts around and Toby regards him as he says, "Jesus, thank God you're alright. You had me worried sick. When Lawson said you guys just went there on your own... What the hell were you thinking? I mean, I can't say I'm surprised, given your track record, but damn, I thought you had more sense than that, now!"

"Well, I don't, clearly," Spencer's replying and when he releases her she says, "You had to have known it was coming."

He shakes his head, amused, and then extends a hand towards Toby. "Hi. I'm sorry for the dramatics. I'm Agent Samuel Drasin. And I'm guessing you're Toby."

Toby chuckles and shakes his hand. "How can you tell?"

"Well, you're in uniform," Drasin smirks and Toby glances at the silver name tag across his chest. "And I've heard a lot about you. All good things, promise."

"Good to know," Toby says, shooting a look at Spencer, who rolls her eyes.

"Stop. You're making me sound like a teenage girl and like you're my diary, or something," Spencer replies. "So what's happening now? I go back to being Spencer and we're not friends anymore?"

"Hey, who said that?" Drasin probes. "I've already been assigned to a new case."

"Another spitfire with a mouth on her?" Spencer wonders and he chuckles.

"No. He's fifty-seven; a used car salesman," Drasin explains. "He might have a mouth on him, though. That I'm not really sure."

Spencer laughs. "Well, you'll keep him protected."

"Yeah. And we'll keep in touch," Drasin says. "You're a good kid, Hastings. Don't let anybody tell you different."

He grins and leaves them behind, Lawson already pulling him aside and shoving a manila folder into his hands. Toby finds himself saying, "I like him."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Everyone does."

She turns to Toby, then, and asks, "This is crazy, isn't it? Me coming to live with you? I mean, I don't have toiletries, I don't have clothing-"

"Spencer," Toby laughs. "When have you ever worried about bringing your own clothing?"

She grins too. "Yeah, you're right."

He kisses her quickly and says, "Go find Jason. He's here, somewhere, and he can take you home. I'm going to be here for a while."

She nods and adds, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Toby tells her. "But it's just a couple of hours. What's that in the face of five and a half years?"

"You raise a good point," Spencer replies and kisses him chastely once more. "Don't work yourself too hard. I'll be waiting for you."

It's that thought alone that gets him through the rest of the day.

* * *

It's much later than he'd expected when he finally gets home from work. He's pulling at the collar of his uniform and trudging up the stairs to his apartment, utterly spent, and longs for the days when he can leave this exhausting life behind. He struggles with his key in the door but when he finally gets it open, it's a sight he isn't familiar with that greets him and one he could definitely get used to. Jason and Spencer are on the couch, laughing about something so trivial, and he's so glad for so many reasons. Both of them could use some happiness, for a change, and both of them are really the only whole ones left of their respective families. Ironic, he thinks, that they were both thought to be the outcasts, the black sheep, the "reject kids," and yet here they are, surviving, battered but not broken, their siblings either dead or gone. They've both always thought so highly of the other and so he's glad to see they've reconciled and gotten over whatever had kept them apart in the past.

Only then does he realize that she's fresh from a shower and wearing a t-shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

The door shuts behind him and they both look up, startled, and he can't wipe the grin off of his face. Jason comments, "Dude, you're back late."

Spencer adds, "Welcome home."

She stands to greet him with a kiss as Jason grimaces behind her. Toby rubs her shoulders a little, asking, "I'm never getting them back, am I?"

"Never," She agrees. "You okay with that?"

"Of course," Toby says, kissing her again. "You still look better in them than I do."

"Alright, kids. I'm going to bed," Jason decides in the midst of all their kissing. "Very happy for you both, but keep that celebrating to a minimum. I'm your brother, Spence, and these walls are shockingly thin."

His bedroom door closes behind him as Spencer asks, "He's joking, right?"

Toby grimaces, shaking his head. "I wish he was."

They instead spend most of the night alternately talking and making out. They're in his bed, lying on their sides, and he knows he could live a hundred years and never grow tired of this, never grow tired of just simply being with her. And just when he's about to tell her, when he's about to make a grand, sweeping declaration of love, her eyes grow soft and sad and her entire visage is somber. He has no idea where this sudden bout of sadness came from and he sweeps his thumbs across her cheeks, asking, "What? What's wrong?"

"I can't go another second without telling you," Spencer says, the truth spilling out of her. "I tried. I wanted to keep you in the dark as long as possible, but you deserve to know."

"I deserve to know what?" He wonders, already dreading the answer.

"Wren… He told us everything last night," Spencer tells him. "And part of that meant the truth about what happened to your Mom."

Toby frowns and he's not really sure if he wants to know. Except he does. He _has_ to. Uneasily, he says, "Okay…"

"What's most important is that she didn't commit suicide, Toby," Spencer insists. "She didn't leave you on purpose. She didn't suffer and she didn't know what was happening. It was instantaneous and she-"

"Spencer," He stops her. "Just tell me what happened."

"He was up there on the roof of Radley, with Bethany Young," Spencer says, fighting her own emotions. "Your Mom… Apparently, the depression made her sleepwalk and somehow, she ended up there, too. Bethany did this thing where she used to pick random patients at Radley to torture and torment and your Mom was her newest target. She got to the edge of the roof and… Oh God, Toby, she pushed her. I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, Toby."

All these years of assuming she'd left when he was at his most vulnerable, all this time of wondering what had actually happened, and here it is, so much worse than the lie he'd been told. He pictures a young blonde girl pushing a troubled woman, he pictures his mother's graceful body floating through the air, and then he pictures her body on the pavement, and completely breaks down. Tears are falling down his cheeks before he can stop them and he realizes, now, that it may have been ten years since he lost her, but it still hurts just as much as it had if it were yesterday. "Oh my God."

"I'm so sorry," Spencer's crying, too, and she pulls him into an embrace, his head coming to rest on her chest, her hands in his hair. "I'm so sorry, babe. I'm so sorry."

He allows himself a moment of weakness before murmuring, "I'm sorry you had to be the one to tell me."

She wipes at her eyes, asking, "What do you mean?"

"I mean you've been through enough. You shouldn't have had to do this, too," Toby pulls back, looking her in the eye. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it was you. I'm glad he couldn't use it against me or throw it in my face like he's known for doing. But I wish he didn't put the burden on you."

"Don't worry about it," She shakes her head. "Seriously, don't."

"Still," Toby insists. "You've always been the only person I really feel comfortable talking about this with. I'm sorry if that's isolating. It's just… nobody else really understands."

"I do," Spencer nods. "She was your mother, Toby, and I know how much you loved her. And you, clearly, meant the world to her, too. Even though the truth of what happened to her is… God, it's just _awful_ -"

"At least I finally know," Toby finishes and she agrees.

"Yeah. At least you know."

The moment passes and they settle easily into one another once more, his arm slung around her shoulders, their fingers interlocked. After a beat, he murmurs, "Hey… If we're confessing…"

"Yeah?"

"I found the note you left me outside the dollhouse. I mean, obviously, or we wouldn't have found you guys at his place," Toby says. "But before I found it, we thought maybe you were in there… We walked through it."

Spencer stills and is utterly silent. Even her breathing slows, as if just the mere mention of this horror she's endured has once again sucked the life out of her. Toby presses on. "Everything was still there, as if he left it as some kind of shrine. It was dark and dingy and there were bars on the windows. In one of the rooms, there was a pool of dried blood. It was _awful_. And I couldn't figure out what made me so uneasy about it, aside from the obvious, until it hit me. It's been five and a half _years_ since we pulled you girls out of there and I still don't know what happened to you down there. I've seen it, now. We sent teams to catalog evidence and further examine the place. But those are semantics. And maybe I don't want all the details; maybe I don't want to know what you went through. Maybe you're sparing me or maybe you're still not ready to talk about it; either way, it's okay. I'll never force it out of you. You know that. It's just… This was the closest I've ever come to actually _seeing_ what you went through. It was astonishing."

After a moment, Spencer inhales and says, "I knew he was going to send us there yesterday. I didn't know where else, but if this were truly a scavenger hunt of –A's greatest hits, then I knew the dollhouse would be number one. That really was the mother load, after all. That being said, I knew I'd have to leave something there for you and I knew that when I did, you'd see everything. I know I have to tell you at least bits and pieces of what went on in there."

"No, you don't," Toby insists and really hopes she understands how sincerely he means this. "I'm serious, Spence. If you're not ready-"

"No, that's the thing," She nods. "I am, actually. I'm not the same person I was before I went in there, but I'm not the same person I was when I came out, either. And I've had nightmares for years and years about what happened in there and it finally hit me why they were so terrible. It's because no one knew. I never told a _soul_ what happened to me in there; not a therapist, not my parents, and not you. I was going through it alone and no one understood and I know that even if I tell you, you still won't. But I was doing this to myself. I didn't let anyone in; no one understood because I didn't give them the chance to try. So I want to talk about it; at least, just a little. I don't think I have the strength to tell you everything, at least not right away. And a lot of it, I've blocked out, thankfully. But you deserve to know."

"Only tell me what you feel comfortable sharing," Toby says. "I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you into this."

She shakes her head. "I don't. I promise."

"Okay," He whispers, squeezing her fingers gently. "If you're sure."

"I really did block a lot of it out," Spencer tells him softly. "A lot of what I remember is just bits and pieces; things that don't really make sense when they're put together. We were rarely ever fed and given just enough water to survive, never to bathe or brush our teeth or anything. We were kept completely separate from each other for the first two weeks and we were never allowed to leave our rooms. Speaking of which, they were all decorated to look _exactly_ like our actual rooms; mine was even full of fake ribbons and awards, an exact replica of my wallpaper and bedspread, and a rocking chair that looked exactly like the one you'd made for me. We wore the orange jumpsuits for a time and then, when we were rewarded for good behavior, he'd give us clothes to wear. Everything he gave me looked like things I wore when I was in middle school."

"I remember being drugged," She goes on. "I remember it because I was barely conscious, but still lucid enough to make out a dark figure tying us up and tossing bags over our heads while another transferred us from the police van to another. I remember waking up, however many days later, freezing to death on a cold metal table. The girls were there with me and we were all completely naked, lying under a sheet. I remember the absolute horror that came with that; I still to this day have no idea what he did to us and that makes me feel… Dirty, somehow. Used. Tainted. Violated. You name it. I remember being locked in that mausoleum that looked like my bedroom but wasn't, and I remember not ever sleeping. I'd fight it for so long that I started hallucinating. Sometimes, they were good. Sometimes, they weren't. I woke up on the floor, once, and I was covered in blood. I didn't know if it was mine or someone else's and I still don't know if that really happened, if I'd actually hurt someone, or if I was just hallucinating that, too."

"But mostly," Spencer says and her voice is surprisingly even. "What I remember is the alarm. One morning, I woke up groggy after an uneasy sleep and there was a switchboard with three levers. Each lever had a picture on it- Hanna, Emily and Aria. We had to decide…. We got to choose who got the water, who got the food, who got the _attention_ that day. And that's how it started off, but that's not how it stayed. Soon, it wasn't about who we loved the most. It was about who we _hated_. And I love those girls to death, you know that, but I didn't have a choice. I had to pick one. An awful, piercing, screeching alarm would ring into my bedroom; I can still hear it to this day. And time would be running out and this mechanical, tinny voice would come over the intercom, saying, ' _Choose one or all will suffer_.' I had to pick. I picked one, every time, and I hated myself, because every time I picked one of them, I would immediately hear them scream out in pain. I had no idea what I was doing to them, but it sounded _God-awful_."

"And you would think that would be the worst of it, right?" Spencer concludes. "That he was forcing us to torture each other? Well, you would be wrong. Because after those two weeks were up, the locks on our doors were removed and we were all reacquainted and looking at each other as guilty as ever- which is stupid, really, when you think about it, because we were all mutually torturing one another. None of us was to blame and yet, we all were. Anyway, we all expected the worst and that was when we realized that not one of us had been electrically shocked. Not one of us had received any less food or water. Not _one_ of us had been harmed. He had delighted in the fact that he could push us that far; even the screams I heard each time I choose one of them had been fabricated. We hadn't ever actually hurt one another. We never actually tortured each other. We just _thought_ we had. And that's what I remember the most. That's what still haunts me each and every day."

He's completely silent. He is utterly at a loss for words. "Spencer… I have no idea what to say."

"There isn't really anything for you to say," She shrugs. "And you know, -A's done a lot to me over the years. He's hurt me, nearly killed me in the process, and he's taken _so_ much away, but never did I think it would ever go so far. That was the only time in my life I had ever felt so… So _hopeless_. I would lie there, in my fake bedroom, forcing myself to stay awake because I was terrified of him taking advantage of me while I was asleep, and I would think about my parents and you and how I would never see any of you again. I would think about how he was going to play with us until he grew tired and then he'd murder us the way he did with everyone he no longer deemed necessary. And I was so _scared_. I honestly never thought I'd see the light of day again. I may joke around all the time about how hope breeds eternal misery; I may actually even believe it. But those three weeks were the only time I'd ever actually had the feeling that it was never going to get better; that I was doomed and there really was no way out."

"I know I've told you before," Toby says, withdrawing his arm from around her and turning so they're eye to eye. "I know you hate when I say it. I know you hate _hearing_ it. But you're so, so brave. You are the strongest person I know; you always have been, but this further proves my theory. I know you don't believe it, but how can you tell me all the things you've just told me and not see how brave you are?"

She shrugs half-heartedly and he shakes his head. "You're going to let me say it, this time. You're brave, Spencer Hastings. You're _so_ brave. You're strong and resilient and perseverant. I know you think you aren't, but you are. Everyone sees it. Someday, I hope you will, too."

She smiles the tiniest bit and he inches a bit closer, kissing her slowly and resting their foreheads together when they're through. "You inspire people. You inspire me. I have no idea how you managed to go through all of that and still get out of bed in the morning. You're still smiling. You're still living your life as though it's untainted. And that's pretty fucking badass, if you ask me."

Spencer laughs, her head thrown back, and his entire bedroom is filled with the joyous sound. Toby grins and says, sincerely, "Thank you for telling me. Thank you for _trusting_ me enough to tell me."

She adds, "There's more. I can't remember it all, but there's more."

"We'll get through it," He assures her. "We'll get through anything, as long as we're together."

Spencer looks so elated at this simple phrase that it momentarily takes his breath away. Either that, or it's the overwhelmingly loving kiss she plants on him moments later. He can barely think straight, but she caresses the skin of his cheeks before saying, "You're the sun, Toby Cavanaugh. You're the sun and the sky and the stars."

He smirks, asking, "If I'm all those things, then what are you?"

She contemplates this before shrugging. "A tree. Or maybe a blade of grass. Nothing as significant as you."

"Wrong," Toby disagrees. "You're the world."

Spencer cocks an eyebrow. "The whole world?"

"Of course," He nods and pulls her even closer. "You're my whole world."

* * *

They return to Rosewood that very weekend.

It's February, now, and the bitter cold freezes the mourners' wet eyelashes as tears are shed during the ceremony for Melissa Hastings, the dearly departed. Friends, colleagues and coworkers alike, family from all around the county, have gathered here today to pay their respects and they embrace Peter and Veronica and bring casseroles and offer monetary benefits. They completely ignore Spencer, too, but that hardly surprises her. Those who do approach her only do so in order to give condolences and ask how she's coping with losing her older sister. It's about Melissa; it always is. Spencer thinks, irritably, that maybe she should plot revenge and go after her sister's friends, text them death threats and taunt them until they're on the verge of a mental breakdown, and then her heart aches. Clearly, it's too early for jokes.

Her mother sniffles beside her, but doesn't shed a tear. Peter is stone-faced and immediately shakes hands with the priest and accepts hugs from those around him. He touches Veronica's arm and then his hand drops as if she's burned him. Spencer knows her parents have never been affectionate with anyone let alone one another, but it's still strange to see firsthand. They lost their child, their firstborn, and here they are, regarding one another with merely a passing glance as if they were strangers. It's the Hastings way to bury all emotions, but she's surprised to find their eyes dry, their faces set. Then, Toby squeezes her hand, brings her back to reality, asks her if she's ready to go, and she realizes that her own face is exactly the same.

Family and friends convene at Spencer's childhood home and instead of engaging in small talk and small town gossip, Spencer ducks away from the living room and heads upstairs. Her heart's in her throat as she heads for her bedroom and studiously ignores the door across the hall- Melissa's room. Inhaling a deep breath, Spencer pushes open the door and finds her heart breaking just a little bit more. She knew; she's known for months that her mother cleaned her room completely empty. But knowing it and seeing it are two different things. There's no bed, no chaise, no curtains and even her wallpaper has been stripped off, replaced by a cream colored paint in an attempt to neutralize the room. In the corner by her closet is the rocking chair and three boxes; all that's left of the life of Spencer Hastings. She pulls the box marked 'Toby' off of the rocking chair and collapses onto it, her eyes closing in serene pleasure. She's missed it so incredibly much. After a moment, she sifts through the box, finds the Scrabble necklace and photographs of the two of them and the card he'd made her for Valentine's Day. She's grinning so much she can barely contain herself.

The blue shirt she'd slept in religiously is there, too, as well as an old copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_. She's completely intent on taking this entire box with her when she leaves. Reaching into an adjacent box, Spencer finds a bunch of old books and movies, notebooks full of class lessons, word for word, and a framed photograph of her and the girls at prom. But at the bottom of the box, underneath her high school diploma (which she takes a moment to mull over, since she'd been sent to Maine long before she ever actually received it) and an old essay with a red A+ on it, is photograph of her and Melissa that stops her in her tracks. They're young in the photo; Spencer's sure she's no older than four, maybe five, which would make Melissa merely a preteen, and they're wearing matching dresses and smiles on their faces. There's a red bow in Melissa's hair and a green one in Spencer's and she remembers instantly; it was Christmastime and this photo became the one her parents sent out to their family and friends.

She slips out of the rocking chair, pushes the boxes out of the way, and she's on the floor as though this will help her see the photo better. Tears are slipping out of her eyes before she can stop them. She can't see how this tiny little girl, ten, maybe eleven years old with her arm around her younger sister's shoulders, could ever _hate_ so much and so blindly that it would cause death, destruction and her inevitable downfall. And suddenly, every last emotion she's refused to acknowledge hits her all at once. Her heart breaks over the photo of the two smiling sisters, two little girls who never saw enough love to sustain them. And where love doesn't grow, hatred blooms, instead.

There's a soft knock on the door and Toby's kneeling beside her in minutes. An arm comes around her as he says, "I should've known this is where you escaped to."

She nods and sniffles. "I couldn't help myself."

"Can you ever?" Toby teases gently. "I've been with you long enough to know that you do what you want."

Despite the situation, she chuckles just a bit, and now she's a mess, because she's laughing and crying at the same time. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He rubs her back a little and then asks, "What are you looking at?"

"The remains of Spencer Hastings," She replies and pushes the photo into his palms. "This was in one of the boxes."

Toby glances over the photo and smiles just a bit. "This is a great picture. You're so tiny and cute, Spence. At least... At least you have this, you know? You can remember _this_ Melissa instead of the one who lied to and tortured you."

"That's what I thought, too," Spencer smiles mirthlessly. "But then I remembered what actually happened that day. You want to know what happened before they took this photo? And what happened after?"

Toby looks hesitant, but nods anyway and she continues. "I was starving. It was way past dinnertime and my parents were putting it off, kind of holding it over our heads; whoever behaved better or smiled bigger or whatever would get to pick where we went for dinner. But I was, like, four, and asking a preschooler to hold off on eating just to pose in a stupid, frilly dress and smile is outrageous. Melissa and I were kicking each other and elbowing each other and basically doing anything we could make the other squirm. Because that's what we did. That's what it was like with her. My dress was itchy and the bow hurt my head; it was tied way too tight because my mother was nothing if not terrible at all the bodily maintenance that came with parenting."

He smirks as though he can picture this easily. Spencer goes on. "So I kept tugging on it. I wanted to loosen it. Melissa told me I looked ugly; my hair was frizzy or the bow wasn't straight. Whatever. But that hurt my feelings because appearances matter when you're four, right? So I elbowed her right in the stomach and she looked at me and told me I was stupid. I screamed at her and she screamed back and I'm pretty sure we ended up chasing each other around the studio. My shoes were too big; I tripped. And I fell and Melissa fell on top of me and she accidentally kicked this pole beside the backdrop and the light fell and shattered into a million pieces."

Toby's eyes widen. "Oh my God."

"Yeah," Spencer shakes her head. "It's fine. The photographer had his assistant come in and clean it up and set up a new one while my Dad basically threatened us with murder if we didn't just sit there and smile like we were supposed to. She was pinching me the entire time. So I elbowed her in the stomach again because that seemed to work the last time. And in case you never realized, Melissa had a proclivity for the dramatics. I was four; I probably barely touched her. But did that occur to her? No way. She looked at me, clutched her stomach and whined, straight up burst into tears, and sobbed the whole way to her favorite restaurant. Because that's where we went for dinner, to appease her, and she got a sundae with her meal while my mother strictly told me that there would be no dessert for me. And that's the grand story behind the Christmas photo of 1998."

"That's..." Toby trails off, at a loss for words. "Insane."

"That's how it always was," Spencer frowns. "We couldn't even sit next to each other and smile for a picture! I thought... I thought if I could just have _one_ memory of her where we got along or one where we banded together or... Or one where she only disliked me, one where she didn't hate me yet, I would be okay. But... But we don't even have _one_. I tried to understand but I don't. Why? Why did she hate me?"

Toby finds himself frowning, too. "I don't know, Spencer."

"It's the only thing I can't wrap my head around," She admits. "And it kills me because I _have_ to know why, but I'll never know. She's gone; I'll never be able to ask her. She's just gone and... I can't help but feel..."

Tears are falling from her eyes once more and Toby nods, discarding the photo and tucking her back into an embrace. "It's okay. You can grieve. She was your sister, you grew up with her, she... It's okay, Spence. It's okay to be sad."

"No, it's not," She disagrees and pushes against him, needing to look him in the eye when she says this. "Not underneath these circumstances. I can't be sad, I shouldn't be crying over her, because... Because then I ask myself, if it were the other way around, if I were dead and she was here instead, would she be crying on the floor over an old photo? Would she be grieving and bawling her eyes out over me? She wouldn't. You know she wouldn't."

"No, Spencer, I don't know. I'll never know," Toby says instead. "Look... I'm not going to pretend I have even an inkling about whatever was going through Melissa's head. But she was sick, Spence. She was obsessive and manipulative and vengeful. She was so used to being put on a pedestal, to always being the perfect one, that when she cracked, she cracked _hard_. And your parents were so focused, for once, on you and trying to help with your addiction and your... Well-"

"You can say it," She tells him quietly. "My wavering mental health. It's not taboo."

"Okay, well... They were so intently focused on you that they never saw it coming," Toby says. "No one did. No one saw that Melissa was just as, if not even more, addicted and mentally unstable than you were. She never got the help she needed, unfortunately, and we'll never know why she did what she did. But it's okay to mourn her. You're not betraying anyone if you do."

"How?" She demands. "How am I not?"

"Because... She may not have loved you," Toby says and she can tell it's killing him to say this, as if the mere thought of someone not loving her is the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "But you loved her. And it's okay to be upset now that she's gone."

Spencer sighs and asks, "Will I ever get over this?"

"I don't know," Toby tells her. "It's going to take time, if you do."

She rolls her eyes and shoves the photo back into the box, shrugging out of his grasp and standing. "I'll just add it to the list."

"What list?"

"The list of reasons why I'm such a fucking mess," Spencer tells him. "When I'm done compiling it, I'm going to give it to you so you can mull it over and decide if you still want to be with me."

"Stop it," Toby shakes his hand, following her lead and standing, too. "If you give me that list, I'll just make one of my own. Reasons why you're strong and brave and wonderful. Reasons why I'm lucky to be with you. Reasons why I love you so, so much."

Reluctantly, this brings a smile to her face and she reaches for him, bringing his mouth to hers. "Remind me- how did I get through five years without you?"

"Miserably, if you were anything like me," He says. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," Spencer says and glances around at the boxes on her floor. "But when we leave, I don't want to take any of that shit with me."

He chuckles. "Okay."

"Except this," Spencer amends, her hands running over the smooth wood of the rocking chair. "And when we leave tomorrow, I don't ever want to come back. Ever."

"Good," Toby nods. "Neither do I."

"Let's go," Spencer decides, tugging on his hand. "Can we get some food, or something? Crying makes me hungry."

"Well I'm not letting your blood sugar drop," Toby teases and chuckles at the look she sends him. "Come on. There's food downstairs."

He leads the way but she pauses at the doorway, giving one last look at her childhood bedroom. It's sentimental but only for a moment. And then time moves forward and she shuts the door, leaving the past and all its memories behind.

* * *

Casco Bay is the town of fairytales; that's how the city was first presented to Spencer Hastings and that's how she'll always remember it. Wherever she goes, wherever she ends up, she knows she'll always remember the sweeping clouds over the great expanse of sky, the giant lighthouses and their revolving beams cutting through the densest of morning fogs, the boats beating against docks and the ever-present smell of fish in the air, regardless of weather or season. Maine has been her home for five years and in those five years, she's felt more at home than she ever had in Rosewood. She'd built relationships with nearly everyone she came into contact with and all the town's residents had treated her as if she was always one of their own instead of an incredible outsider. However, Casco Bay isn't her hometown, not really. It's Kate Wilson's and, after all, she isn't Kate Wilson, anymore.

It's late April, now. Spring has sprung, the ice has melted and lobster harvesting is busier than ever. People race up and down the streets, birds are flittering through the air and flowers are in bloom. It's been months and months since their nightmare came to an end and as much as Spencer truly loves this town, she's ready to leave. After years of being repressed, she wants to see the world. But first, she must settle all her unfinished business. She introduces Toby to Mary Anne, who instantly embraces him in a bear hug and then treats the two of them to lunch, where she asks all about him, genuinely wanting to know every last detail. Spencer quits her job with Dr. Cohen and supposes she'll have to start all over again, for Kate Wilson might have a degree in social psychology, but Spencer Hastings has nothing but a high school diploma. She calls Cara and Lauren, they meet for coffee one morning, and somehow, she manages to spill parts of the truth and their heads are spinning. She promises to stay in touch after answering their dozens of questions but doesn't know if she actually will.

And finally, when all is said and done, Spencer packs up most of her belongings, gives away many others and, tearfully, sells her tiny ocean-view bungalow. It's the hardest thing to part with; she's become quite attached to it. But she honestly doesn't see herself coming back here often enough to warrant keeping it around. She's seen Maine; she's been there, done that and is looking for something more. And Toby? He's there, too. He's ready for something more exciting, something new, and so they don't have long-term plans. They have immediate ones, instead; they're going to Paris and London and Rome and after that, who knows? They might get married, they might have a handful of beautiful children, or they might not. But they are going to bask in this, the freedom of choice, the freedom that comes with not having a planned future, the freedom in the idea that they simply _have_ one. For a while, it didn't appear as though this day would ever come to fruition.

They're walking down her beach, hand in hand. The sky is a deep cerulean, not a single cloud blanketing it, and seagulls cry in the distance. Before, not having plans for her future might have terrified her, stressed her out, sparked her anxiety in the worst of ways, but now, she almost welcomes it. She's never been happier in her entire life. "I've only just realized… We've never been on a trip together. You're going to learn all of my annoying travel habits."

Toby chuckles. "What, do you have to lick the plane for good luck? Do you bring a neck pillow? Giant noise-cancelling headphones?"

"No," She smirks. "I've just been told I am not a joy to travel with."

"By who?"

"By everyone," Spencer replies. "I'm an excellent packer, though. You'll know where everything is at all times because of my stellar organizational skills."

"I'm not even a little bit surprised," Toby shakes his head. "And believe me, I don't care if you're the worst person to travel with on this entire planet. You're not going to make me back out on this. We've been looking forward to this forever and I'm ready to take on the world with you."

She grins. "We're going to Paris. Like, we're actually going to Paris. The city of love."

"The city of love with the love of my life?" Toby says, pulling her closer as their steps slow to a halt. "I can't think of anything better than that."

She can't stop smiling. It's definitely something she'll have to get used to. She kisses him languidly and asks, "How much French do you remember?"

He thinks a moment before saying, " _Je porte ces couleurs parce que je suis fier de mon école_."

Spencer scrunches her nose in confusion. "You're wearing these colors because you're proud of your school?"

Toby nods. "It was one of the answers on the French final for my GED."

She erupts in laughter. "That's all you remember?"

"I took that test like eight years ago!"

"Damn," Spencer shakes her head. "Your French tutor must've _sucked_."

"She did not," Toby disagrees. "She was wonderful. I just think her mind was focused elsewhere."

Scoffing, she asks, "On what?"

"On sleuthing. Getting ahead," Toby replies. "You thought you had the answers, but you were missing pieces of the puzzle and you needed me to get them. That and you were very busy checking me out."

" _I_ was busy checking _you_ out?" Spencer exclaims, incredulous. "I believe it was the other way around, thank you very much. I drove you to the Edgewood Motor Court, remember? I saw you looking at me."

"I was looking because you were looking," Toby teases and then chuckles. "Are we seriously going to argue over who fell for who first?"

"No," Spencer grins. "I think that was a pretty even tie."

Waves crash against the shores and water laps at their bare ankles, their clasped hands swinging in between them. Spencer sighs and says, "I _am_ going to miss this place, though. There's something about the beach that's just so… calming. So relaxing."

"Yeah, it is," Toby agrees. "And when we get back from our European adventure, we'll find a place to settle down- anywhere you want to go- and I'll build you a beach house. We'll fill it with memories. And everyone in that house will always feel safe and loved."

Spencer smiles warmly and reaches for him, bringing his mouth to hers. "I don't need a house for that."

"I love you," She breathes when they're through. "I love you so much and I never want to be without you again."

"I love you, too," Toby assures her. "And you don't have to worry about that, because I'm not going anywhere and I'm not letting anyone take you away from me again."

Smiling, she remembers his previous words and echoes them. "We never gave up."

"And we never will," He promises. "It's over now. We get to move on."

And Spencer supposes it is. It is over. She's no longer Kate Wilson and the Witness Protection Program is nothing but a memory and Casco Bay isn't really her hometown anymore. There's nothing left of -A, nothing left of Charles or Melissa or CeCe; nothing but nightmares and stories to tell and whispered, post-midnight confessions. The girls text her constantly and she still feels starved of them, but even they, in time, will heal. She's Spencer again and there was a time when she didn't want to be, not if that meant returning to the life of torment and pain that had preceded this one. But it's over. All the pain will never truly go away; it'll be there in scars, reminders of what once was and what will always be. The texts and the death threats and the creepy messages through all mediums have ended and their teenage nightmare has left them behind. She isn't who she once was. She's stronger, now, bolder, a little harder. And everything she'd once feared? Every lie she's ever told, every situation she'd once dreaded? They're gone in nothing but a whisper of the past.

She wonders, then, if everything she's ever known is coming to an end, why doesn't she feel more upset over it? She's happy; she's joyous and she's giddy and she's thoroughly eager over the prospect of beginning again, starting anew. And the answer is right there in front of her, quite literally speaking. It's the prospect of travel, something that's always thrilled her. It's the calm rolling waves, the soft, silky sand, the comforting, endless sky. It's Toby; it's always _been_ Toby, right from the start. And as he turns to look at her now, his eyes alight with hope and promise and excitement all rolled into that impossible blue, Spencer realizes this is what she's been unconsciously yearning for in those five empty years without him. It's all he's ever given her and all he's ever been; it's something she's searched endlessly for and always came up empty. It's love in the simplest, truest form. And she couldn't find it, not until she was back with him. She should've known all along.

Spencer steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck. They're kissing passionately, longingly, lovingly, and she'll never get enough of it.

And she thinks, as they sway on the spot, that it isn't really over after all. In fact, it's only the beginning.


End file.
